


you can be king again

by hiraethia



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Bending (Avatar), Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Figure Skater Zuko, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, a burn about as fast as zuko can melt an ice rink, figure skating AU, in this house we address Sokka's insecurities, lots of sadness, lots of softness, somewhat enemies to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiraethia/pseuds/hiraethia
Summary: Zuko shakily pushed himself to his feet.He glided forward, arms outstretched as he opened his mouth in a scream, drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Tongues of flame flickered from between his teeth, swelling and breathing with every heave of his chest. Sparks flew around his face like a crown, illuminating skin and scar in gold.It looked like he was spitting up the sun.OR,zuko is the former king of figure skating, katara is well on her way to becoming one, and sokka sets the stage for both of them.
Relationships: Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 100
Kudos: 173





	1. the fire prince

**Author's Note:**

> it's here!! welcome to the figure skating au i have been yelling about on my tumblr for like months now (i think? idk time isn't real) 
> 
> just want to thank my wonderful friend terra for her literal endless support and kindness and love, and also for betaing this fic 💖 i seriously couldn't have done it without you. all my love forever and more!! go support her on [tumblr](https://terracyte.tumblr.com) and [ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/terracyte/pseuds/terracyte) and check out her top knotch content
> 
> all that being said...this is a love letter to spring, the homes in our people, and ofc, skating :") hope you enjoy!
> 
> [title from king by lauren aquilina]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> banner is by terra <3 my beloved <3 i love you <3 literally adore you so much <3 this is also a love letter to you and only you actually <3 id, courtesy of her, is included in the end notes!

* * *

The first time Sokka saw Zuko on the ice, he was barely seventeen. 

He waited until Katara had skated off their rink and put on her guards before saying anything. (Because his sister might have been a skating prodigy, but Sokka still did not trust her one bit on land with literal knives on her feet).

“Who’s the new kid?” he asked, jerking his chin toward the only other person left in the rink.

His sister raised an eyebrow, glancing over her shoulder. Something like bitter fondness twitched in her smile when she looked back. 

The boy couldn’t have been much older than Sokka was, dark hair just barely brushing against his chin as he slowly glided around the perimeter. The youthful roundness of his cheeks was marred by the giant scar stretching across his left cheek, crawling down the side of his neck and disappearing into his black collar. His eyes, fixed on the ground, betrayed nothing but cold concentration.

“Oh, him?” Katara finally said, coming over and resting her elbow against Sokka’s shoulder. “They call him the Fire Prince. You’ll see why.”

“Isn’t that kind of insensitive?” Sokka asked, tearing his eyes away from the kid’s burn.

“That’s not it.”

“Then what — ”

Katara didn’t get to answer. 

Because that was when the boy jumped into a twirl, one leg arching gracefully through the air, and suddenly, he was engulfed in scarlet flames.

* * *

“ _And_ he’s basically my biggest skating rival. We’ve been training at the same rink — Sokka, where have you been for the past year?” 

“Trying to pass _high school_ , Katara. That’s not the point. Since when was he allowed to destroy Dad’s rink?” 

“Dad knows his uncle who knows his coach. Who also knows you, by the way.” 

“His coach? What?”

“Coach Piandao? He’s your calc teacher’s husband. Jeong Jeong. You didn’t know?”

“...I cannot believe this world that I live in.”

* * *

The Fire Prince left the rink an hour after they did, dying embers trailing behind his red-hot skates, flickering like fireflies drowned upon melted ice.

* * *

Katara started skating when she was four, after Dad carved her first pair of skates and strapped them to her feet. Sokka preferred staying on actual land in his mukluks, _thank you very much_ , but whenever he wasn’t helping Dad fish, he was still out on the ice, watching his sister toddle about on the snowy banks.

Only a year later, Katara discovered she could pull water out of the snow and make it dance along her fingertips and swirl around her parka. 

Mom was the one who taught her to start dancing on the ice. When Katara was too big to stay strapped to her back anymore, she’d take her hand, guiding her along. When Sokka came back from hunting with Dad, he would hear the sounds of katajjaq and his sister’s bubbling laughter ringing through the air as they twirled around, together. 

Mom was the one who told them the stories of past waterbenders generations and generations before. Sokka couldn’t call the sea to his palms, not like Katara could, but he still listened anyway. While his sister played with the snowflakes, Sokka grabbed a handful and sprinkled it upon her and Mom’s heads, only to be met with a teasing look and a kiss to the cheek.

Those were the memories, sun-stained and golden, that he remembered the most. The memories of a little life, but still, one that was happier than not.

When Sokka turned nine, Mom would die.

And Katara would lose herself on the ice, trying to remember the ghostly touch of Mom’s hands on hers. And Dad would pretend that he was okay enough for all of them, but at night when he couldn’t sleep, he would spend hours just staring at the moon like he was looking for someone long gone. 

And Sokka would follow his sister wherever she went, because Mom wasn’t going to be there to catch her if she fell ever again — so he would be the one to do it. And as long as Sokka lived, he swore he’d never let his sister know the bruises that came from something as cold as undeserved cruelty.

When Katara turned ten, she would come to Sokka and make a promise — that she would be the best in skating there was. She would tell him about a new division of the sport, skating while bending, specifically for those who were tied to the elements. She would smile widely, one tooth still chipped from the first time she’d slipped on the ice while Mom hadn’t been looking, and tell him that Dad knew someone in Ottawa who would be able to coach her. 

(And Sokka would understand that it wasn’t just fierce ambition that was lighting the fire in Katara’s eyes — but also grief too ancient for only ten years).

When Katara turned eleven and Sokka twelve, they would find themselves in a new city, carrying new bags and an old sadness in their hearts. Dad would help open up a new rink, Katara would take to the ice again, with Bato coaching every step she took, while Sokka would meet a girl named Yue whose hands were warm with light even when she could freeze and suspend water midair. 

When Katara turned thirteen, she would win a gold medal that sank between her chipped teeth at her first competition. Sokka would watch from the stands, cheering and screaming and half-sobbing, because he couldn’t quite tell if that was his mother he was seeing on the podium, or his baby sister. 

When Sokka turned sixteen and was well on his way to becoming the top of his class, Katara would win two more championships, and Dad would kiss them both on the forehead at night and whisper how proud he was. And Sokka would close his eyes and force aside the voice whispering that _he wasn’t enough_ , not next to Katara, not next to anyone, because Dad had never lied before. 

(He never lied, except that he was okay).

When Sokka turned seventeen, Katara would start growing up. She always had been, ever since the day their family went from four to three. But the day Sokka turned seventeen, he would look at Katara, grinning with her teeth now perfectly aligned, and he would realize that someday soon, his baby sister wouldn’t need him anymore. 

When Sokka turned seventeen, he would meet a boy who set ice on fire. And he would hate that boy, because he created messes Sokka would have to clean up after. Because _of course_ Sokka could never prevent the messes — he always scarred his hands picking up the pieces. 

But that would all come later. 

Right then, Sokka was eight, Katara didn’t know how to pull herself into a full spin yet, and Mom was still there. 

They had a little life. An unknown life, away from flashing cameras and full stadiums. A tiny life, where grief wasn’t yet a friend whose face Sokka knew better than his own mother’s.

A life he couldn’t quite remember anymore. 

* * *

Sokka was twenty now, in his third year of college, and he was a busy man. Between his engineering professors who insisted on _destroying_ his social life and wrestling with Suki to see who would be cursed to work the Zamboni that day, he walked the line between sanity and a nervous breakdown like he _owned_ it. 

But he could at least forget about his responsibilities for an hour or two to watch Katara at the Pro-Bending Skate Finals. 

The sound of drums echoed through the hushed stadium as Katara’s skates glided gracefully across the ice. Water trailed over her arms in intricate patterns, swelling and ebbing with every spin and jump: a perfect imitation of tidal waves. Sokka had seen her do the same dance since she was five, since Gran Gran and Mom began showing her old forms and older stories — but his baby sister never failed to amaze him. 

His grip on Yue’s hand tightened as he watched Katara pull herself into her final spin. Her dark blue and white dress, trimmed with furs, billowed out around her. For a moment, water flowed behind her outstretched leg like a whip. Then she ducked down, throwing out her arms, and all around her hung perfectly spherical droplets — frozen rain. 

It all hovered above her, suspended in time, as she fell down to her knees. Some hair had come loose and hung in front of her face. Slowly, the music began to fade, and Katara lowered her hands.

The rain swirled into one crystalline sphere before she flicked her hand and it all returned to her waterskin.

Katara commanded storms at her fingertips and turned them beautiful. 

Sokka was on his feet, yelling and applauding the moment she straightened up, face lighting up in a brilliant smile. 

“That’s my sister!” he shouted to anyone who could appreciate it, as Yue whooped and Dad squeezed him tightly around the shoulders. 

She eventually skated off the rink, slipping on her guards and letting Bato wrap her in a hug. Sokka jumped down the stands to find her, flinging an arm around her. Dad came up and dropped a kiss on her head, muttering, “You were great out there.” 

“So? Did you win?” Sokka asked as skaters started clearing the rink for the next performance. Katara rolled her eyes, squeezing Dad’s hand. 

“I told you already, Sokka, I get the scores later,” she said, ruffling his hair and effectively ruining his wolf tail, much to his chagrin. “Now shut up, I want to see Zuko skate. He’s going next.” 

“Zuko,” Sokka repeated. “Oh, you mean — ”

“The Fire Prince, your sworn enemy, destroyer-of-rinks. That Zuko,” Katara said, smirking. “Come on, you can watch with me.” 

Sokka didn’t get much of a say. Katara had an unfortunate history of freezing him in place to drag him into whatever she wanted, and Sokka wasn’t looking to get wet socks that day. 

He followed her to the kiss and cry area, tossing her jacket her way before sitting down. 

“You’ve never actually seen Zuko skate before, have you?” Katara asked as she slipped her arms into the sleeves. 

“I see the _products_ of his skating well enough,” Sokka grumbled. Ever since Zuko had started training at their rink, Sokka could count on all his fingers and toes (and he needed more) the number of times he’d had to stay overtime to resurface and maintain the melted ice. 

It didn’t matter to him that Zuko was a good skater or bender or _both_. Fire was pretty while it lasted, but it never fixed the messes it left behind.

But Katara just gave him a knowing look — though _what_ she knew was beyond Sokka — and elbowed him softly. 

“He’s not as terrible as you make him out to be.” 

“I’ll make my own judgments, thank you very much. And hey — isn’t he your rival?”

She raised her eyebrows. “What, I can’t respectfully look at my opponents’ skills?” 

Sokka opened his mouth to say something else, but he never got to, because that was the moment Zuko came out.

He’d grown taller since Sokka had last seen him, but he was still a couple of inches shorter than he was. His hair was much longer, tied into a tight ponytail, and it brushed over his shoulders as he unzipped his jacket and handed it to Piandao. 

He was clad in a silky black shirt tucked into dark leather pants. The gold trimming along his back and sleeves flickered like flames as they reflected the stadium lights. If Sokka looked closely enough, the intricate patterns came together to form a dragon, slithering down Zuko’s spine. 

With his left side facing them, all he could see of Zuko was the angry burn stretching across his face, uneven and stark against smooth skin.

Sokka watched as Piandao leaned close and whispered something in Zuko’s ear. The boy nodded, squeezing his coach’s arm once, before removing his guards and stepping out onto the ice.

The stadium roared as he skated away, shaking out his gloved hands and coming to a smooth stop at the center.

For a moment, everything was quiet. 

And then —

It began with a piano, notes ascending and descending in a flurry. 

Zuko’s eyes were shut when he spun in a circle, sending sparks flying as he started skating around the perimeter. 

The first flicker of flame came with his first jump. Orange and gold flashed from his skates as he landed, sending sparks of fire and ice flying to the sound of uproarious cheering.

Sokka glanced at his sister for a moment, who was looking on intently. She didn’t look bothered, only vaguely curious and interested as she watched Zuko fly around the rink. Leaning one hand on her chin, she pursed her lips as the firebender took off in another jump, this time stumbling slightly on the landing but righting himself almost immediately.

There was a sharp anger lining his movements. It was different from Katara’s style, which was as smooth and powerful and rough as the sea. Zuko’s was as unpredictable as the fire in him. 

He skated like he was burning out, spitting sparks like it was all that was in his marrow, sending waves of flame across the rink that left it glistening and _ruined_.

By the time Zuko finished his program, there were multiple puddles forming around him. The final chords of the piece echoed through the stadium as he finished, one hand reaching for the lights as his other arm swept out behind him, wrist hanging limply in the air. Smoke trailed from his fingertips as he almost immediately sank down, pressing his forehead to the ice as his chest heaved.

Katara stood up, frowning. Some people began throwing flowers into the rink as the announcers’ voices reverberated over the speakers.

“And that was the Fire Prince, Zuko Yukimura, skating to Chopin’s _Revolutionary_ Etude…”

“What’s wrong?” Sokka asked Katara, who adjusted the strap of her waterskin pensively.

“Nothing.” She held out a hand for him, and he grabbed it to hoist himself to his feet. “It was a pretty clean skate.” 

“Clean,” Sokka muttered, eyeing the melted ice. Oh, he could already hear the Zamboni starting up. Absolute torture.

Zuko was still in the center of the rink, hands pressed against his knees as he stared down at the ice. It felt like eons later when he finally stood back up, wobbling slightly before slowly skating over to where his coach and uncle were waiting. 

Sokka watched as Piandao steadied his skater with one hand on his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. He only tore his gaze away when he saw Zuko glance their way.

“So, what’s next? Another gold medal for the collection?” he opted to ask his sister instead. 

“We’ll see,” Katara said cheerfully, looping her arm through his. “Now let’s go find Dad before he does something embarrassing with Bato.”

Sokka shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about that.” 

* * *

The circle of gold hung over Katara’s chest, blazing bright. Sokka rolled his eyes when she made eye contact with him and bit down on it, scrunching her nose. 

Zuko ended up placing second. He dipped his head as the medal slipped over his neck, accepting the bouquet of flowers with a small, polite smile. Third was a kid with bright blue arrows tattooed on his head and arms, grinning as he held up his bronze medal. 

Sokka headed Katara’s way as soon as they all stepped down from the podium. 

“Hey. This is Aang,” she said in lieu of a greeting, gesturing toward the tattooed kid. He beamed at Sokka, waving.

“Sokka! It’s so good to finally meet you!” 

“Good to meet you too,” Sokka replied, trying not to get blinded by the kid’s — Aang’s — brightness. “You’re Katara’s friend?”

“We met last season,” Aang said. “She’s told me so much about you.” 

Sokka glared at Katara. “Only good things, I hope.” 

“Sure,” she said smugly, “like the time you asked Yue out by saying — ”

“ _Okay_ , that’s enough,” Sokka said, looking around for the girl in question. Luckily, she was still standing by the now-empty kiss and cry area, talking to Bato.

Aang snorted, before perking up and grabbing someone from behind him. Sokka looked up only to notice, too late, that he’d somehow dragged _Zuko_ in.

“I want you to meet my good friend, Zuko!” 

“What — do all skaters know each other?” Sokka demanded when Zuko just stood there awkwardly, eyes wide. 

“I mean, there’s only so many skaters who can bend — ”

“That’s not what I meant.” 

Zuko’s gaze flicked toward Sokka, sweeping over him like he was — he was _taking notes_ or something — before he turned toward his sister.

“Congratulations, Katara,” he said. Sokka frowned. His voice was hoarser than he thought it’d be. “You did really well.” 

“Thanks, you too,” she said. “I’ll see you in Nationals now.” 

Zuko nodded, before glancing at Aang. “I’m going to go now,” he said quietly.

“You’re not staying for the press conference?” Aang asked, tilting his head.

“I’m not feeling great.” 

“Oh.” The cheerful look grayed, replaced by something more somber. “Bad pain day?” 

Silently, Zuko nodded again, before reaching out and rubbing his knuckles on Aang’s head. “I’ll see you later.” 

Sokka had a distinct feeling he wasn’t supposed to have heard any of that. 

His mind started racing, like it always did when he had problems to work out and questions to answer. 

So when the all-mighty Fire Prince turned his way, he blurted out the first thing on his tongue without thinking it through.

“So you’re the asshole who always melts my rink.” 

Zuko blinked, and Sokka internally winced at the (too familiar) sound of Katara’s hand slapping her forehead. 

“Sorry?”

“I sure hope you are.” 

A crease appeared by Zuko’s eyebrow as he frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said again slowly, not sounding very sorry at all, “but I can’t exactly stop bending.” 

He was saved from having to say anything else when Piandao appeared out of nowhere, touching a hand to Zuko’s shoulder and studiously not reacting to the way his student jumped. 

“Time to go. Your uncle’s waiting,” he said gruffly. 

“Bye, Zuko! I’ll come by later,” Aang said. “Bye, Coach Piandao!”

“Goodbye, Aang. I believe Gyatso’s ready at the table.” 

“Great. Katara, you coming?” 

“In a moment,” she said. She waited until all three of them were out of sight before whirling on Sokka and slapping him on the arm. He yelped.

“What was _that_ for?” 

“ _That’s_ the first thing you say to him? Really?” 

“I’m the one getting on the Zamboni later, thank you very much, because apparently, _I_ have to clean up after everyone. It’s Suki’s day off — ”

“You know what? Coming from Mr. Do-An-Activity-Together, I shouldn’t have expected anything better.” Katara began to walk off, leaving Sokka to scramble and grab their bags and follow her.

“ _What the fuck do you mean by that._ ” She didn’t answer. “Katara?!” 

* * *

Maybe it was Sokka’s own fault that he wasn’t as diligent about keeping up with Katara’s ice skating world as he should’ve been. In his defense, he was a full-time student _and_ full-time employee at the rink — and no, don’t ask, he didn’t know how that was possible either.

So _excuse him_ for not having time to do a full background check on Zuko “Fire Prince” Yukimura — 

Like the fact that whenever he trained at their rink, he _always_ _stayed way past the closing time_. 

Suki had smirked at him the moment he’d waltzed in through the sliding doors, jangling her keys in one hand while reaching out to pat his cheek with the other. 

“You’re _so_ going to miss leaving at a normal time,” she’d said. “Call me if you need entertainment, okay?”

“You’re the last person I’d call for entertainment,” Sokka retorted, even though that was objectively false. Suki just snorted and clapped his shoulder, sauntering around him. 

“See you tomorrow, babe.” 

“I better not find you and Yue in the supply closet again!”

“ _Bye_ , Sokka!” 

And now here he was, thirty minutes overdue to close up the rink for normal people, waiting for Katara and Bato to pack up their things as he tapped his pen against his problem sets. At this point, the numbers were beginning to swim off the page, and Sokka was ready to just ditch the rink himself, skaters and benders be damned. 

But, alas, he had a job. 

And Sokka hated half-assing things.

Dumping his books in his backpack, he scooted off his stool and headed into the main rink. There were only a few stragglers remaining, though he could make out the silhouettes of Katara and Bato in the corner. 

That left one other person on the ice.

Zuko.

Sokka had his hand on the door when he paused. He didn’t know what it was, but the sharp words sitting on his tongue suddenly retreated, leaving behind something dry as he watched the firebender on the ice.

Zuko was dressed in complete black, every inch unglamorous. Yet, bathed in the washed-out stadium lights, he looked like he glowed. 

Sokka ducked back behind a wall, letting the shadows obscure him as Zuko began to glide backward. He skated one pace, two paces, before kicking his leg off into a jump. 

The sound of his blades scratching against the ice echoed through the empty rink.

Face twisting in something that looked strangely like dissatisfaction, Zuko shook his head, as if to himself, and skated back to where he started. Sokka watched as he tried again, launching himself into the air, arms lifted over his head. 

“Sokka?”

He jumped, whirling around. 

“ _Katara._ You just took about ten minutes off my life.” 

She crossed her arms, adjusting her waterskin by her hip, then jerked her chin toward where Zuko was still practicing. 

“He’s doing an Axel,” she explained. “It’s one of the hardest jumps in figure skating.” 

“Oh.” Sokka glanced back to where Zuko was. Some hair had escaped his messy bun, framing his face and hiding his eyes. 

Katara’s hand slipped down to Sokka’s wrist. “We should probably leave him to it.” 

“But I have to close up — ”

“Piandao will do it. He’s been hanging out with Bato anyway.” 

“Piandao’s here?” 

His sister rolled her eyes, tugging on his arm. “He came in while you were losing it over your homework. Let’s go. Gran Gran’s been waiting up.” 

Begrudgingly, Sokka eventually let her drag him away. They left behind a quiet solitude, punctured only by the sounds of a lone skater dancing on his own. 

He didn’t notice the bright but brief flashes of orange and red lighting up the darkness behind him.

He wouldn’t notice until the next day, when the center of the ice was melted into a perfect circle of water. 

* * *

“Katara, I’m begging you. _Please_ bend me some ice. Just this once. I won’t ever ask again —”

“Absolutely not.” 

Sokka’s groan was, sadly, drowned out by the whirring of the Zamboni. 

* * *

The next time Zuko stayed late, Katara wasn’t there to be his impulse control. That, combined with the fact that he had an exam in two days, was more than enough reason for Sokka to march up to where Zuko was still gliding around the ice and knock against the wall three times.

“Hey, asshole,” he called. Zuko came to a stop in the middle of a turn. A few stubborn flames still clung onto the ice, flickering weakly, as he turned toward Sokka. 

Scowling, he replied, “What?” 

“Are you planning on leaving any time soon? Some of us have actual places to be,” Sokka said. 

Something flashed in Zuko’s eyes, but Sokka couldn’t tell what it was. He just tucked his gloved hands into his pockets and tilted his head to the side.

“You hate me,” he observed calmly after a long moment. “For what?” 

“Hate is a strong word. You’re only a _slight_ bane of my existence,” Sokka said. 

“I already told you I was sorry about the ice.”

Eyeing the new holes and patches on the ice, then glancing down to where Zuko’s skates were still crying wisps of smoke, Sokka snorted. 

“That’s a lie and we both know it.” 

“My coach will help with repairs.” 

“I’m still the one who has to maintain it.” 

Zuko sighed shortly. “Look, I’ll leave. Is that what you want?” 

Sokka stepped aside as the firebender hopped off the rink, shoving on his skate guards. He glanced out at the damaged ice, then back at Zuko, and his next question spilled forth without any permission.

“Why do you do it, anyway?” 

Zuko looked up at him. Even in the shadows, his amber irises seemed to house embers. “What?” 

“Katara, and even Aang — their elements actually make sense. You? It’s counterintuitive. I don’t understand you,” Sokka said. “Is it self-destruction, or something else?” 

And just like that, the embers flickered out. Zuko’s face shut down, and in its place was a barren land too frigid for even the tiniest spark to survive. Sokka bit back the instinctive urge to step away. 

“I’m not explaining myself to you,” Zuko said tensely. “I don’t owe you that, nor do you owe me anything.” He started stalking off, only to turn at the last minute. 

“I’ll train somewhere else,” he said. “Just tell me to fuck off first.” 

When Sokka opened his mouth, nothing else came out. Zuko stared at him for three, five, ten seconds, cold everywhere he shouldn’t have been, before finally turning and disappearing. 

For a long minute, Sokka just stood there. Satisfaction was nowhere to be found, leaving behind something disconcerting in its place.

If he looked close enough, he thought he could still see smoke trailing from black skates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i.d. a digital colored drawing of sokka and zuko from atla. the background fades from pink to yellow. sokka sits on the left with his knees up to his chest. he is wearing a blue hoodie, dark pants, and sneakers. zuko sits on the right with his legs folded beneath him, wearing a black collared jacket and dark pants. his hair is pulled into a high ponytail and on his right hand is a black ace ring. to the left of sokka are two empty picture frames inside a puddle. to the right of zuko is a pair of black ice skates resting on autumn leaves. in between them is a crown covered with jasmine flowers. they are looking into eachother’s eyes. the text between them reads “you can be king again” and below it reads “by: hi-raethia” end. i.d]


	2. the first fall

The one upside to Katara’s insufferable refusal to help Sokka maintain their ice was that he got to drag her into his patented Zamboni Rants. 

“I don’t know what his purpose is,” Sokka kept saying. “One minute he’s saying he doesn’t owe me anything, the next he’s telling me to tell _him_ to fuck off.” 

He tucked his knee to his chest, steering the wheel so his Zamboni didn’t accidentally crash into a very unhelpful and amused-looking Katara. 

“Well, now you’ve exposed yourself,” she said. “You don’t actually want him to leave.” 

“I want him to start owning up to the fact that it’s not all about him,” Sokka said. “He can’t just go around doing whatever he wants because he _has to_ and not think about — what about _my_ time, huh? What about my energy? I’m just the ordinary guy here. All I can do is make sure the rink is good enough so you guys can do your thing for everyone else.”

He sat up to glare down at his sister, who was manipulating a sphere of water between her hands.

“Katara, am I being petty? Is this what it is?”

She sounded genuine when she replied, “No, you’re not being petty. He _should_ help you. And you’re not ordinary, Sokka. You set the stage for all of us.” 

He took in a deep breath, felt something in his chest settle, and let it out slowly. 

“But,” Katara continued, “there’s probably a reason why he’s training so hard right now. And you kind of just insulted his bending to his face.” 

“I don’t _understand_ it!” Sokka almost shouted. 

“You don’t have to. It’s an art.” She shrugged. “Now you should look at where you’re going because you’re about to crash.” 

Sometimes, Sokka really hated working the Zamboni. 

* * *

Toph was two years younger than Sokka, still undecided, yet she’d somehow wormed her way into his advanced physics office hours. To do what, other than fuck up his labs, Sokka truly didn’t know.

“ _And_ to fudge your data when the due date’s tomorrow and no one in the group did anything and you were working late!” she said cheerfully. For one fleeting moment, Sokka was glad he’d been too lazy to put in his contacts that morning. It made taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose a lot more dramatically satisfying. 

“I wouldn’t _have_ to work so late if _someone_ actually listened to our business hours.” 

“Who?” Toph suddenly perked up, nose scrunching. “You mean Zuko?” 

“ _You_ know him?” 

She snorted. “ _Know_ him. He’s basically my brother.” 

The nose-pinching urges were really strong that day. Sokka threw his head back against the bean bag cushion, burying his face in his papers and sighing. 

“Why does everyone I know know everyone else? Am I missing something?” 

Toph shrugged, jabbing him in the side. He yelped and swatted her hand away. “You just never asked us, dummy,” she said. 

“Yeah, well, your _brother_ is 60% of the reason why I have these eye bags,” Sokka grumbled. “Maybe tell him to plan his time better. Oh! Better yet, tell him to stop ruining our ice so I don’t have to spend so much time fixing it.” 

Toph let him rant himself out, a dark sort of amusement clouding her face as she smirked. 

“Sorry about the bending,” was all she said. “Must suck.” 

“It’s — whatever,” Sokka huffed.

“But just so you know, if _I_ were there — ”

“You’d uproot the whole rink. Yes, I know. We’ve been through this before.” 

The amusement suddenly began to bleed out of her, and Toph sagged in a way that had Sokka straightening up, frowning. 

“Look, Sokka,” she said quietly, tapping her nails against her knees. “I know Zuko can be a lot of trouble, and I get that. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be annoyed with him. He annoys the shit out of me too, sometimes. But there’s a reason he works so hard, and not even Uncle can get through to him.” 

Sokka shut his notebook. “Like...what?” he asked when Toph pursed her lips pensively. 

“How much do you know about him?” she finally said, after a long minute. 

He thought about the cool admiration and fiery challenge in Katara’s eyes every time she and Zuko met on the rink. He thought about the cheeriness in Aang’s face draining when Zuko stumbled or muttered that he didn’t feel good. He thought about fire and paradoxes and nothing and everything.

“They nicknamed him the Fire Prince, at some point,” he eventually said. “He’s Katara’s skating rival?” 

Toph nodded. “He’s been skating for a lot longer than just the past few years, actually,” she said slowly, picking out the words in a distinctly un-Toph-like way. “He started when he was five. He was _really_ good. He was set to be one of the greatest, actually, but — then he got his scar.” 

Sokka tried to imagine a boy other than the Zuko he knew now: a boy a lot shorter and a lot clumsier, without a burn raging across half his face. 

He couldn’t quite do it. 

“So what happened?” he asked tentatively. Because there was a twist to Toph’s lips that looked a lot like hand-me-down grief, and Sokka could recognize its worn-down threads dearly — they were the same ones that littered the corners of his bedroom, and he could never bear to touch them. 

“He had to quit. He was on hiatus for three years. You don’t just quit skating for three years.” She frowned. “Zuko knew that, but he didn’t have a choice. So now he pushes himself really hard to make up for all that lost time.” 

“But what — ” Sokka tasted the words in his mouth, wondered if they were even worth letting out. Toph beat him to the answer.

“What happened?” she echoed. 

“Was it a training accident?” 

Toph was quiet for a long time, before suddenly breaking into a too-fierce grin and reaching out. She flicked Sokka right above his eyebrow, and he yelped.

“That’s not my story to tell, Snoozles.” 

“Right,” Sokka grumbled, rubbing the sore spot on his head. 

He didn’t push it anymore. 

Toph liked to act tough, and she _was_ , but there was still a helpless sort of fury lining the ridges of her brows as she turned away.

Whatever it was, Sokka figured it was a mess she knew she couldn’t fix. A mess right in front of her, the shattered pieces lying everywhere in the aftermath of war, but a mess she couldn’t touch.

A mess that was made long before she had entered the picture.

Sorrow, in hindsight, would keep them looking over their shoulders for the rest of their lives. It was the kind of muscle memory they’d never get rid of, not completely. Sokka glanced down at his own fingers, clenched them into fists, and forced a smile no one would care to see.

“Alright, Toph,” he said slowly, taking in a deep breath. “Want to fudge some data with me?”

After a long moment, she finally grinned again.

“Do you even have to ask?”

* * *

Sokka was driving the Zamboni with his knees when he heard the door to the rink slide open. He glanced over to see Katara putting down her bag, skates already strapped on as she crossed her arms.

“Hey. You’re earlier than usual,” Sokka said when she didn’t do anything other than stare. “Come back in like, ten minutes.” 

Katara shifted, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Sokka,” she began, before cutting herself off with a sigh. 

He sat up. “Are you okay?” 

She had that look on her face. That same look she’d worn when she’d told Sokka about her plans to pursue figure skating in the first place. That look that said, _I’m going to do something that scares me, and I’m a little afraid to tell you about it, but I’m going to do it anyway_.

He turned off the engine and swiveled around, just as she sighed and slid onto the ice. 

“I’ll freeze it for you,” she said in lieu of an explanation. Sokka raised his eyebrow, but didn’t argue.

By the time he came back, Katara had finished fixing the ice (seriously, she could’ve done that the _entire time_ ) and was standing in the center of the rink, staring up at the ceiling. 

Sokka followed her gaze. 

“Fascinating lights,” he said. “Dad picked them himself.” 

Katara was quiet for a long minute, before she huffed softly.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said.

“Sure. Hit me with it.” 

With a deft flick of her hand, she uncorked her waterskin and drew out a ball of water. She let it levitate in the center of her palm for a long moment, thin, silvery lines flickering across her face as she stared. 

It felt like hours before she said anything at all.

“Did you know Zuko’s trying to qualify for the Olympics?” 

He blinked. _That_ wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

“Huh?” 

Katara turned to look at him, finally, and up close, Sokka could see the fractures in her dark eyes. The fractures that let light spill in and let midnight seep back out. 

“So am I.” 

The world stopped spinning for a second. Just a second, but it was enough for Sokka to almost fall anyway. 

“ _What_?” 

“I’ve been talking to Dad and Bato about this,” Katara hurried to explain, the water in her palm growing shakier and shakier, “and they both think I could do it. I really could, Sokka. It’s really important to me and — and I think I could actually _make_ some change, too. Open the gates a little, for more people like us, you know? I love skating but so many can’t, and I know it’s going to be hard but I really think I can do it — ”

“Hey, hey.” Sokka finally shook himself out of his stupor at the sound of panic slowly budding in his sister’s voice, tainting it like blood in water. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Katara’s shoulders, pulling her in. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Her shuddering breath ruffled his hair as the water came crashing down, splashing over Sokka’s shoes. Her hands, cool and trembling, came up to grip the back of his sweater. 

“You’re — you’re not mad?” she whispered when Sokka just held her.

“Why would I be mad?” he asked, something heavy falling into the pit of his stomach at the way Katara’s voice kept quivering. 

“I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“No, I want to hear it,” he insisted. “Why do you think I’d be mad about this?” 

Pulling away, Katara blinked rapidly and wiped at her face. Sokka felt his own heart break a little. 

“I guess I just never thought I’d come this far,” she said. “I feel like I’ve just been dragging you and everyone else along with me. We moved here so I could skate, and now the Olympics — It’s going to be so different, and — ”

“Katara, I’d follow you anywhere if you thought it was the right thing,” Sokka interrupted. “You know that, right?” 

She fell silent. 

Sokka swallowed harshly, before reaching out and taking her hands. Her fingers were covered with tiny scars from the times she’d grabbed her blades too close to the edges. 

But at the very tips, they were still soft.

“I’m your brother. Whatever you do, I’ll always support you. It’s not a sacrifice,” he said. “So don’t worry about me, okay?”

(Because, _no_ , he wasn’t mad. There was a heaviness in his chest that festered beneath the loving glow of pride, and he didn’t have a name for it but it felt a lot like bittersweet medicine and painful nostalgia and wintry joy. 

There was a twist in his stomach as he looked at his sister, ready to make history and fight tooth and nail to make it happen; the same sister who he’d always try to catch before she knew the toothy scrape of hurt against her palms — even if it was futile).

((But no, he wasn’t angry. 

He could never be angry at her, not when she’d grown up too fast and learned the harsh bite of grief on her wrist and lost so much anyway. Not when he hadn’t been enough to protect her from any of that)).

And now she was here, and it was her life, and Sokka wasn’t going to get in the way of that. 

He cleared his throat, because Katara still didn’t look sure at all, and squeezed her hands again.

“Gran Gran would love to see you out there, doing all the things she taught you,” he said softly. “She really would love that.”

Tearily, Katara nodded and slumped forward, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. Sokka held her close, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of her head. 

“I wish Mom could see it too,” she whispered harshly. 

Sokka closed his eyes, only holding her tighter. He didn’t know what to say other than _I know, I know, but she can’t,_ because that was a wish they’d spoken thousands of times before, and Sokka couldn’t really remember Mom no matter how hard he tried — and everyone he loved wasn’t there anymore. 

So instead, he just smiled, even though Katara wouldn’t see it, and said, “I can’t believe you’re about to be the first Inuk Olympic champion. A _waterbender_ too.” 

Katara huffed. “I don’t even know if I qualify yet. I have to do well in Nationals first and then — ”

“The _first Inuk Olympic champion_ ,” Sokka said, enunciating each word with a squeeze of her shoulders. “I like the sound of it.” 

Her laugh was watery, slightly sorrowful, but overwhelmingly bright. 

Sokka didn’t let her go, even after she’d long stopped crying.

* * *

Before Katara went on to Nationals, she had one other competition to complete. Bato had squeezed Dad’s hand and said that all she had to do was place podium in both her programs. Then she’d really have a shot at getting to the Olympics. 

The air of the stadium thrummed with conversation and laughter. Sokka watched his sister warm up on the ice, before skating over to where Bato was standing by the boards to talk. Dressed in a sleek black coat, hair tucked into two tight braids that wound over her shoulders, she looked like she was ready to take on the world. 

Once the announcements that the competition was beginning sounded, Bato returned to his spot by them. He flashed Sokka a grin that he easily returned, before reaching out and squeezing Dad’s hand.

“She’s going to do great,” he promised brightly, laying a chaste kiss to Dad’s cheek. Sokka pretended to gag.

“Gross. Get away from me.”

He received a ruffle to his hair for his troubles. _Parents_.

Katara was the first skater to go, gliding out underneath the brilliant lights with an even more brilliant smile.

Sokka had seen her moves before, away from the scrutinizing glares of judges and audiences. He’d seen them performed by tiny hands, to the music of bright laughter bubbling from chubby cheeks. He’d seen them performed by Gran Gran, and then Mom, and then Katara, and then all together at once.

He’d seen them all.

Still, it never failed to spark something painful and bright in his chest as he watched Katara soar over a closed rink, eyes shut as she sent a crest of water flying around the perimeter.

Dad’s hand gripped his shoulder with a force only pride could conjure as he looked on. Sokka didn’t say anything, only reaching up to rest his fingers over his. 

In the whole program, Katara fell only once. 

It was on one of her final jumps. She skidded on the landing, skates slipping over the ice as she crashed roughly against the barriers. Sokka felt himself jumping to his feet before he could even register it. Cold fear doused the warm flames that had been flickering gently in his ribs — but Bato’s voice stopped him.

“No. She’s okay,” he said, and from the way Bato kept squeezing Dad’s other hand, it was really meant more for him than Sokka.

But he forced himself to relax anyway.

He watched as Katara picked herself back up as gracefully as she could, face slipping back into a serene mask as she whirled the water in a circle around her. 

(She made it look like it hadn’t hurt at all, but Sokka knew better).

Eventually, she finished to uproarious applause. She lifted her arms, chest heaving as she caught her breath, and dipped into a bow. Bato broke away from them to greet her as she headed off the ice, head low as she slipped on her guards and muttered something Sokka couldn’t hear. He couldn’t say anything to her, though, because Bato herded her off to the kiss and cry section as soon as the skaters began to clear the rink for the next performer. 

She ended up placing second, when it was all done. Sokka cheered and yelled through cupped hands as loudly as he could, as Katara accepted the bouquet of flowers and silver medal with a watery smile. 

She looked happy enough — but Sokka could sense her disappointment from a mile away.

When Katara finally rejoined them, he reached out and yanked her close. He ignored the silver medal digging painfully into his chest as he squeezed her as tightly as he could. Her tears wet his shoulder as she shook, half with relieved laughter and half with barely suppressed sniffles. 

Sokka felt Dad’s arms come around him, holding them both together, as Bato joined with hands over both their shoulders.

“You were great, Katara,” Sokka whispered, so only she would hear. “You were so great.” 

It wasn’t a secret. But between the two of them, shielded from the prying eyes of everyone else in the stadium, it still felt like one.

* * *

The lights of the rink were still on as Sokka did his rounds, picking out any stragglers that were trying to sneak past closing time. He paused when he heard the familiar sounds of water whooshing through the air and skates scratching against ice. 

Katara was still there, hair coming loose around her shoulders as she launched herself into another jump. Sokka watched as his sister managed to land it, face twisting in a wince as she stopped and shook her legs out.

Sokka stepped forward, grabbing her phone and turning off the music. Katara jumped, whirling around with sudden ice forming around her fingers. When she saw it was just him, her shoulders drooped and she flicked the water away. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. 

“Maybe you forgot, but I do work here,” he said, frowning. 

(He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her sound so tired).

Katara rolled her eyes, but didn’t laugh. Sokka stepped forward, eyeing the way she was favoring her left side. 

“Come on. You hurt your knee earlier, didn’t you?” 

“My knee is fine.” 

“Let me take a look.” 

For a moment, she looked like she wanted to protest. Sokka could see the hardness lining all her edges. 

(She used to be soft, and she still was — but more and more, Sokka was starting to see her steel. It hurt, seeing those edges sharpen with each passing year).

((Some growing pains hurt more than others)).

But the moment passed. Katara rolled her eyes and scoffed, but obligingly skated over and sat down beside him, rolling up her pants. 

There was a nasty bruise darkening her skin, painting it black and blue. Sokka felt his own knee throb with sympathy pain, but Katara sat still like it didn’t even bother her.

“Hm. Do you think you could heal it yourself?” he asked, reaching out and lightly poking at the mottled edges.

“I don’t know,” Katara murmured. “I haven’t done it on myself before.” 

“You want to try?”

Sokka watched as she uncorked her waterskin, pulling out a stream of water and letting it pool over her palm. Closing her eyes in concentration, she twitched her fingers and let it encase her knee. 

After a moment, it began to glow pure white, illuminating her in a gentle shower of liquid starlight. Sokka stared in wonder as Katara frowned in concentration, letting the glow steadily grow for a few more seconds before shaking her head and pulling away entirely. 

The bruise had faded, but it was still there.

“I don’t know how to do it completely yet,” she said, poking at it curiously. “I have to practice more.” 

“You can do that _after_ you win at the Olympics,” Sokka said, ignoring the glare Katara shot his way for the reminder. “I’ll get you an ice pack.” 

“Thanks, Sokka,” she called after him as he headed down to the office. He flipped a peace sign over his shoulder, and something that he didn’t even know had coiled up in his chest unwound when he heard her quiet snort.

When he came back, a bag of ice chilling his palm, Katara had taken to playing around with her skates. She dug the blades into the ice, pushing until flecks of snow flew up before whirling her hand around and returning everything to its rightful place. Sokka watched her, a melancholy sort of fondness rooting itself in his bones.

Maybe it was just a trick of the light. But he blinked, and for a moment, she looked like she was eight again — rubbing her feet in the snow and giggling to herself at all the odd shapes she made.

But Katara was grown up now. She wasn’t just his baby sister whose hand he held when Mom wasn’t around. She was a skater whose name was rising from a whisper into a shout, and she was a secret he couldn’t protect anymore, even if he tried. 

She didn’t skate just for herself now. She skated for the memory of Mom, carrying her strapped to her back across the ice. She skated for Gran Gran, who, without fail, always watched her dance from home. She skated for the kids who needed to see a familiar face on the ice, who needed to hear a familiar tongue, who needed a familiar thing to hold on to. 

She did it all, even if it meant putting up a fight.

And, _oh_ , Katara knew how to fight. She knew how to wield the hearts of storms like daggers, just as easily as she could freeze rain in time.

Sokka squeezed the ice pack, letting the cold sink beneath his skin. 

Katara had always been more connected to their culture than he was. She had always been more ready to take a chance than he was.

No.

She just had always been more than he was.

So Sokka supposed it was only fitting that her dreams were as wide as water itself.

Something heavy sat in his throat, but he tried to push it aside as he approached her. He didn’t meet Katara’s eyes as he sat down, pressing the ice pack against her knee. 

“Oh,” she hissed, jolting. “That’s _cold_.” 

“Yeah? Well, it’s ice.” Sokka pressed it harder when she swatted his shoulder. “Stay still.” 

“You’re so rude.” 

“Got it from Dad.” 

“Did we have the same dad? Are we talking about the same dad right now?” 

Sokka smiled despite himself, curling his fingers tighter around the plastic wrap. It crinkled too loudly underneath his touch. 

A few minutes passed before he spoke again, the ice finally warming up. 

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Mom would have been really proud of you.” 

Katara stared at him. If Sokka looked over her shoulder, he could see the old shadows of grief creeping in like an old friend, sneaking up for a rib-crushing hug.

He didn’t look over her shoulder. He looked at her.

His sister’s mouth twisted, half-frown and half-smile, as her eyes shone treacherously. 

“Sokka,” she said softly. “Mom would be proud of you too.” 

He tried to remember her face. He really did. He tried to imagine her saying it, in her own voice. 

_I am proud of you, Sokka,_ she would say. _I am so proud of you both_. 

But he could only picture those words drifting from Katara’s lips, and it wasn’t the same.

It just wasn’t the same.

He tried to smile again, a sorry expression to match hers, and pressed the ice pack back to her knee. It was beginning to melt, droplets slipping out from beneath the plastic and falling to the ice. 

“I’ll get you a new one,” he said, and didn’t wait for Katara to reply before getting up and leaving. 

Swathed in the shadows of an unlit office, he squeezed his eyes shut as they began to blur. Still, something warm slipped down his cheek, and he hastily scrubbed it away before it could drip past his chin.

He grabbed another ice pack and clenched his fist around it. 

He let the cold sink in.

* * *

Sokka had an old, tried-and-true method for coping with all the feelings and shit that he _did not want to parse_. 

It was called _work_.

If he was too busy resurfacing the ice and making sure kids weren’t accidentally bumping into each other as they skated, then he had absolutely no time to think about the hollowness in his chest.

(It was an old kind of hollow. It felt like an old friend whose face had changed irrevocably while their eyes stayed the same).

((It felt like a heaviness he’d been nurturing since a long, long time ago)).

But he didn’t think about it. He didn’t want to.

It was eleven at night when Sokka finally looked up from his half-finished coding assignments. Pushing himself off his stool, he grabbed his keys and headed out of the dark lobby for the inner rink. 

It was empty, illuminated only by the lights reflecting off the scratched glass walls. 

Well — empty, except for one particular slight-bane-of-his-existence.

Zuko was still there, skating aimlessly around the perimeter. Sokka’s fingers clenched around the keys in his palm, and he ignored the way the metal dug grooves into his skin in favor of glaring at the reason-he-couldn’t-clock-out-yet. 

Eyes shut, brow furrowing, and lips quirking in a concentrated frown, Zuko began to spin slowly. Sokka watched as he started gathering more momentum, spinning around twice before inhaling sharply and launching himself into an airborne twirl.

If Sokka wasn’t so annoyed, he would’ve thought it was beautiful. Zuko was powerful — a spark lighting up a white tundra. His hair, tucked in a loose ponytail, spun around his face in a dark halo. For a moment, he was so still, so graceful, that he could’ve been a king.

Then Zuko fell.

His skates scraped harshly against the ice as he plummeted to the floor.

Sokka’s breath caught in his lungs when Zuko stayed there for three, five, ten seconds. It was unbearable enough that he almost stepped forward — except, finally, Zuko unsteadily pushed himself to his feet. 

Then he tried again.

Another jump. Beautiful while it lasted.

Another crash upon the ice.

Again. Shakier this time.

Another fall.

Again. And again. And again.

Until finally, he stayed down. The rink fell quiet, the still air punctuated only by the sounds of Zuko’s harsh breathing. Something twisted in Sokka’s stomach as he watched the boy wipe angrily at his face, leaning heavily against one arm as he pressed a hand to his ankle with the other.

It was a defeat Sokka was never supposed to have seen.

Zuko had always been a perfect skater. Just like how Katara had grown up on the ice, Sokka had watched him fly, own the rink like he was born to soar upon it. He couldn’t reconcile the same boy, who wielded flame just as naturally as he danced on ice, with the person he was seeing now.

 _Except_ — 

Sokka remembered the competitions. Remembered how, sometimes, Zuko would fall to his knees in the center of the rink as soon as the music faded away, chest heaving and legs trembling. Remembered how Coach Piandao always held onto his arms when he finally pulled himself up to leave, never bowing beneath deafening applause. 

Remembered how, for every time Zuko fell, he always got up even faster, even better.

Until he couldn’t.

No, they were the same. They always were. The boy who commanded everyone’s attention with the flames he spun from metal blades was the same boy who pushed himself until the ice he loved so dearly bruised his entire side black and purple — when no one was watching. 

Sokka swallowed harshly. 

He couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed anymore. This was something more than foolish stubbornness, and in his chest was something else too clumsy and too odd to be put into words.

Zuko was still on the ice. He’d curled up against the wall, still clutching his ankle as he buried his face in his knees. 

(One light overhead flickered).

((Sokka would have to replace it soon)).

He didn’t register moving until he’d stepped onto the ice himself, the soles of his shoes immediately threatening to slip.

But he didn’t fall.

“Hey, asshole,” he forced himself to say. 

Zuko flinched and looked up. The dark hair hanging in his face did nothing to hide the glassiness of his eyes, or the pained twist of his mouth.

“What?” he ground out hoarsely.

Sokka shoved his hands into his pockets so Zuko wouldn’t see him fidgeting. 

“I had to close up like an hour ago. You’re the only one still here, besides me.” The words, barbed and sharp, should’ve been normal between them. Instead, Zuko just turned away, stiff and cold. Sokka hesitated.

Zuko might’ve been Aang’s friend, but he wasn’t Sokka’s.

Still, it felt wrong to just — say nothing. 

(Maybe it was the way Zuko just kept falling and getting back up. The way desperation lined the tension of his muscles, the way that his eyes dimmed with an old kind of exhaustion).

((Sokka didn’t have the bruises to show it, but he knew just how much the landing could hurt)).

After a long minute, he sighed and knelt down, pretending he didn’t notice the way Zuko was starting to shake.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” came the lie, a few seconds later.

Somehow, Sokka didn’t think Zuko would appreciate getting called out for it.

His gaze fell down to where Zuko was gripping his leg. He’d taken off his gloves at some point, revealing his slender and pale fingers. On his right hand was a black ring, laced with what looked like gold, that glinted beneath the light.

“Nice ring.” The words slipped out before he could stop and think about them, though anything was better than the silence. “What does it mean?”

Zuko started, staring down at his hand like he’d just remembered it was there.

“Oh. Um.” He let go of his ankle, clenching his fists. “It’s — uh.” 

“You don’t _have_ to tell me — ”

“It’s an ace ring.”

Sokka shut his mouth. 

“Oh.”

Zuko scowled, his sigh sharp and cutting. “I’m not going to explain to you what that means.”

“No! It’s just — ” Sokka glanced down at his hands again, at the way the black stood out like a band of midnight against knuckles bleeding white. “It’s cool.” 

If there was an expression for mentally deleting an angry paragraph, it was whatever Zuko was doing with his face just then.

“What?”

“It’s cool,” Sokka repeated, and meant it. “I didn’t know that was what the ring meant. Thanks for telling me.”

Coughing like it’d get rid of his awkwardness, Zuko looked away again.

“Not many people know anyway,” he finally said after a long moment, some tension draining from his frame. He just looked more tired now. “It’s okay.”

Sokka hummed. They sat in silence for a few more minutes, and that one annoying light kept flickering, casting shadows upon Zuko’s face that somehow made him look even sadder. 

“You know,” Sokka said, to fill the silence, “Katara tried to teach me how to skate. I was never as good as she was. I’m better at just watching people’s backs. Besides, I was always scared that if I fell, someone would come around and slice my fingers right off. Because you all wear knives on your feet.” 

Zuko huffed quietly. “They’re not knives.”

“Sharp metal slicey things. Same difference.” Sokka turned toward him. “You have to be really good to do all that, wearing _those_.”

“Very specific, Sokka.”

“I’m serious.”

But Zuko still looked so bitter, and a week ago Sokka really couldn’t have cared less — but there was something awfully lost in the other boy’s eyes that had been there since his first fall, and maybe even before, that kept him filling the silence.

“Do you...want to talk about it?” he asked tentatively. 

Zuko just stared at him like he was shocked Sokka even cared.

“Why?” he finally said. 

“Why not? I’m here now, anyway. It’s not like I can leave.” 

Looking away, Zuko started fiddling with the ties of his skates. He was frowning again, this time more pensive than anything, and Sokka was starting to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t have bothered to ask at all. 

But then, Zuko took a deep breath. It shook on its way out. It sounded like it hurt. 

“I can’t skate as well anymore.”

Sokka turned toward him. His eyes were shut in an imitation of peace. A shitty imitation, because everything else about him screamed pain, pain, pain. 

“Zuko…?”

“Nine times out of ten, I’m scared I can’t land a jump at all. I can’t see or hear well on my left side anymore. I can deal with it during my skates, but it still hurts, sometimes. On the really bad days, after I finish, I get so dizzy I can barely stand.” The words were beginning to pour out of him like he’d cut too deep, and now he couldn’t stop bleeding. 

“Some people say I’m an inspiration, coming back to the ice after — _after_. For bending even after I burned. Others say I’m not palatable enough for the sport, because I’m — well, I’m _me_. None of them know that this is all I have.” 

Trailing a fingertip along the blades of his skates, Zuko let out an incredulous, hollow laugh. “They don’t know anything at all, really. It _hurts_ , hating the thing you love. Being scared of it. _Failing_ at it. Every day, it hurts more than the last, but here I am anyway.” 

His words drifted down, slowly, slowly, like ashes. 

In the aftermath of it all, Sokka couldn’t do anything else but stare, because — 

Covered in hidden bruises, drowning in an old rage, burning up in an even older grief, Sokka saw _Zuko_. 

He wasn’t the Fire Prince anymore. He was a boy trying to dance, trying to _live_ , with the titanium hands of cruelty pressuring upon his shoulders. 

Sokka saw Zuko, saw his pain, saw his grit. They weren’t the same, but he knew — 

That was the kind of pain _nobody_ deserved.

But before he could say any of that, Zuko was already shaking his head, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white again. 

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered, moving like he was trying to stand up. “Sorry.” 

Without thinking, Sokka reached out and grabbed his arm. Immediately, Zuko stilled beneath his touch.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I say something, at least?” 

Zuko looked like he wanted to melt a hole in the rink and jump down it, but he nodded anyway and slowly sat back down, tension lining every single part of his body. Sokka let him go but kept his hand close.

He mulled over his words carefully, feeling each of them out, before letting them go. 

“I really admire you guys, for doing what you do, you know? You’re making history. You’re in a sport that was — that never really made room for you in the first place,” he said slowly. “I mean, look at my sister. Katara might be a natural at, well, everything she does, but that doesn’t mean any of this was easy for her. It _still_ isn’t any easier now.

“I can’t tell you how many times she was criticized whenever her songs were in Inuktitut, instead of English. I can’t tell you how many times she didn’t get the scores she deserved, where anyone else would’ve done better with less.” Sokka sighed against the familiar heaviness pressing up against his sternum. It still hurt to talk about — it always did. “It didn’t matter that she was good, or even the best. It mattered that she never compromised herself for anyone else, and people didn’t bother trying to understand that.

“It’s lonely, and it’s tiring,” he said. “I mean, there are still people who forget we even exist. That we’re still here, too. But in the end, Katara says it’s worth it, and I think so too.” 

He glanced up at Zuko, and wasn’t at all surprised to see wide amber eyes already staring back at him. They brimmed with something almost agonized.

“What I’m trying to say is,” Sokka said, quieter this time, because gentleness always felt better with yet-to-scar wounds, “what you’re doing — someone out there _needs_ to see it and know that they can too. It’s bitter work, but I hope you don’t give up. At some point, it’ll get better.” 

_It has to_. 

Zuko opened his mouth, then shut it again. His jaw clenched as he looked away, fiddling with the straps of his black skates again.

“I wish it was better. Katara shouldn’t have to deal with that,” he finally said, after a long minute. “You shouldn’t either. I know it doesn’t change anything, and I know it doesn’t mean much, coming from me.” 

“Thanks for saying that.”

“You shouldn’t have to — force your way into the world, just for the bare minimum. Respect. Acknowledgement,” he continued. “ _They_ should be the ones making it easier. It’s not your burden.” 

Sokka looked at him, at every part of him that was fractured and still held together.

“And yet, here we are anyway,” Sokka said quietly. 

At that, Zuko’s lips finally twitched in a listless smile. 

Despite it all, Sokka found himself returning it. 

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked, three, five, ten seconds later. 

“Oh. Oh, it’s fine, I — ” Zuko tried to stand, only to cut himself off with a short gasp and sink to his knees again. Sokka reached out to steady him, grabbing his arms. 

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked. 

“It’s fine. I probably just — sprained my ankle again,” Zuko winced.

“Again?” Sokka swallowed his questions, shaking his head. “How bad is it?” 

“I can deal with it, Sokka — ”

“There’s a First-Aid kit in the office. You sit here, don’t move, and wait until I get back.” He waited until Zuko begrudgingly sat back down before getting up and jogging toward Dad’s office, slowly enough that he didn’t completely eat shit on the ice and make a fool out of himself. 

When he returned a few minutes later, Zuko had gone back to leaning against the wall. His skates laid beside him, untied and oddly ordinary. 

Sokka knelt back down beside him, opening up the kit and taking out a roll of compression bandages. 

“Right leg?” 

Zuko looked like he wanted to protest when Sokka grabbed his ankle and rested it over his lap, gently but firmly starting to wrap it up. Quickly, the other boy fell silent, and when Sokka looked up again, there was a pink flush all over his cheeks as he stared studiously at the ground. 

“Normally, if Yue were here, I’d ask her to help heal it for you,” Sokka said, just to fill the quiet. “Waterbending can be used to heal, did you know? It’s incredible.”  
  
“Yeah.” Sokka didn’t know if Zuko’s voice was hoarser than usual. He couldn’t tell.

“Maybe you can ask her next time you’re here. She teaches at the same time Bato does.” 

“Sure.” 

Sokka had a distinct feeling Zuko wasn’t going to ask her for anything at all. He just sighed, wrapped the bandage one more time around Zuko’s ankle, before letting him go. 

“Listen, I can drive you home — ”

“It’s fine,” Zuko interrupted. “My uncle’s been waiting.”

Balancing the First-Aid kit on his hip and watching Zuko put his skates and guards back on before standing, Sokka couldn’t help but scoff. 

“Real asshole move, making your uncle wait _that_ long.”

“Fuck off,” he muttered. Sokka feigned a hurt gasp. 

“After our therapy session? I thought we were making progress.” Zuko ducked his head, not-limping to where his bag was sitting on the bench. Sokka waited until he’d gotten all his things before stepping in front of Zuko and crossing his arms.

“Hey, man. Seriously, I — ” Words were fickle. They either came more naturally than anything, or they failed when he needed it the most. He cleared his throat, and barreled on. “I’m glad you’re still doing this. Even when people forget that it’s never been easy. I don’t know much, but I know there’s some kid out there who needs to see a skater like you.” 

Zuko’s smile was still bitter, but also a little sweeter this time.

“And there’s a kid out there who needs to see a skater like Katara. And — and a friend like you.” 

He said the word _friend_ like it was too small to hold everything he meant. But Sokka didn’t know what else there was. 

“Thanks, Zuko,” was all he managed to say through the newfound tightness in his throat.

“No. Thank _you_ , Sokka.” 

He slung his bag over his shoulder and turned away. 

Sokka stood there in silence, long after Zuko was gone. 

* * *

Something had changed between them, since the night at the rink. 

Beneath the flickering overhead light he _still_ had to fix, crumpled on the ice and stuck in the throes of an ugly sort of grief —

He’d seen Zuko. 

Zuko had let that happen.

And there was no way to go back from that. 

Sokka knew a lot of things — but he didn’t know how to take that kind of privilege back. 

(He wasn’t sure he regretted it, either).

So, a few days later, when he found himself sitting in the stands with Zuko at his side as they watched Bato coach his morning classes, he didn’t bother moving away.

Zuko wasn’t skating that day, instead mindlessly massaging his injured leg as he stared out at the rink. Sokka was content to do his physics homework in silence when, after what felt like an hour, Zuko finally spoke up.

“What’re you working on?”

Sokka grunted, scribbling down an answer before shutting his notebook. “Physics. The real bane of my existence.” 

“Oh. What are you studying?” 

“Engineering.” He couldn’t help but smile. “Hate the professors, _love_ the field.”

Zuko returned his smile, small and oddly shy. “Cool,” he murmured, before going back to stretching his legs. Sokka watched him for a few moments, before clearing his throat again.

“How’s the ankle holding up?” 

“It’s fine. A bit better.” 

He at least didn’t look like he was in any pain, so Sokka didn’t push it. Instead, he followed Zuko’s gaze to where he was looking at Bato, currently holding a little kid’s hand as he guided her across the ice. 

“That’s my dad’s boyfriend,” Sokka said, and just barely held back his laughter at the way Zuko started. “He also coaches Inuit kids in the city. He and Dad made a special program for that, back when he was first starting up this rink. It was how they started dating, actually.” 

“Oh,” Zuko breathed. “Bato coaches Katara too, yes?” 

“He does.” A familiar, warm pride, like honey, dripped down Sokka’s throat at the memories. “Katara’s a big inspiration for all of them, you know. We’re relearning how to be proud.” 

Zuko smiled softly at his words. 

“That’s great,” he said quietly. “That’s really great.” 

Then that honey began thickening into a familiar, tight bittersweetness, when Sokka looked away and saw Katara trailing a water whip through the air as she spun around. 

“Me, on the other hand? I don’t do as much,” he said, hushed. Zuko’s gaze was heavy on the side of his face. “I’m just trying to graduate college in one piece, honestly.”

“Do you know what you’re doing after college?” Zuko asked. 

“I don’t know, I’ll just have to see. Maybe invent some shit. Get rich and famous. Help people.” He shrugged. “Anyway, you guys have your skating. I’ll be your moral support.” 

Zuko stared at him like he was seeing something Sokka wasn’t. For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of them in an empty rink again, baring open wounds and asking not to be healed — not quite, not yet — but to be _listened_ to.

It was disquieting, to be pierced in such a way. 

(But Sokka supposed, even when rain-soaked to the bone, sometimes that heaviness could still feel like an embrace).

After a long moment, Zuko finally shrugged and turned away. Sokka didn’t know what he’d figured out, and he didn’t bother asking. Instead, Zuko just said, “Katara. She’s a prodigy, right?”

“Something like that. Our mom taught her a lot when she was little,” Sokka said quietly.

“My sister was the same way.”

He glanced at Zuko out of the corner of his eye, where he was now staring intently at the rink. 

“Your sister?”

“Azula. My little sister.” There was something biting and something soft in Zuko’s expression when he turned back to Sokka. “She was the best. She was always better than I was. She could manipulate candle flames when she was only three, and she started skating when she was four. My — ”

His voice caught on his teeth, jagged. Sokka stayed silent.

Zuko took a deep breath, steadied himself, and continued on. 

“My father always liked her better. He wanted her to become the greatest skater in the world, and she probably could’ve made it.” He rolled his ankle experimentally, lips twisting in a frown at the feeling. “She quit, though.”

“Why’d she quit?” 

“She hated skating.” Zuko shrugged, too casually. “And she hated me.”

“I’m sorry,” Sokka said, even though the words were too small to fix anything. Zuko knew it too.

“It doesn’t matter.” Another wobbly smile that said, _no, it really did_. “And I don’t get compared to her anymore, so it’s a good thing.”

“I hope she’s okay.” 

“She’s doing better.” 

Sokka nudged Zuko with his elbow, because there was nothing else he could do except prod their bruises and call it growing pains. 

“Hey,” he said. “Here’s to older brothers getting shown up by their baby sisters, huh?”

Zuko huffed softly, after a long moment. “Cheers, I’ll drink to that.” 

It wasn’t anything funny — not really — but Sokka couldn’t help but laugh.

* * *

Aang was positively vibrating to get out and find some ice, the moment Zuko deemed himself able to skate again. 

(Which, to be fair, was _not_ a trustworthy judgement at all).

Suki swung the keys around her finger smugly as she locked up the rink, ignoring Sokka’s bitching as she linked her arm with Yue’s.

“So who’s down to take my truck?” She pointedly raised her voice above Sokka’s protests because _listen, there could’ve been more people who, out of all the things they could possibly do with their lives on a Tuesday night, wanted to use the rink_ _— that was perfectly sound logic that they needed to consider before ditching work_. 

It didn’t work. Sokka was outnumbered. 

And now he was bundled in the passenger seat of Suki’s pickup truck, glaring grumpily out the window as they sped down the streets. 

“Can’t Katara and Yue just _make_ some ice? Or, you know, we could _use the rink_?” he complained half-heartedly as Suki swerved into another empty neighborhood. Katara socked him in the shoulder as Yue rolled her eyes, but Sokka didn’t get to say anything else, because suddenly Aang was all up in the front seats. 

“There! That’s perfect!” he shouted, pointing out the windshield.

Suki braked so suddenly that Sokka silently cursed whoever decided it was a good idea to give her a license.

Aang practically leaped out of the truck, followed by Katara, desperately hopping on one foot as she tugged on her other skate. Suki winked at Sokka before parking the truck, grabbing Yue’s hands, and jumping out into the snowy street. 

That left Zuko, putting on his skates as he held one of Toph’s scrunchies between his teeth to tie up his hair.

Sokka studiously looked away.

“Are you two coming?” Zuko asked. 

“Yeah, Sokka,” Toph said, grinning fiercely. “We gotta represent the non-skaters, right?”

“And get my self-esteem shot down, yet again? No thanks,” Sokka said sarcastically, even though he was already unbuckling his seatbelt and shoving open the door.

“Come on, you’ll be with the coolest of the group. Me! What are you whining about?” Toph said. She hopped out after him, punching Zuko in the shoulder to get him out of the way. “Sparky, are you planning on moving in the next year or what?”

Zuko rolled his eyes but started skating away after their friends. Sokka watched him go, before sticking out his arm for Toph to hold. 

“Alright, Toph,” he said as dramatically as he could. “Ready to have the best time sitting?” 

She stomped one foot on the ground. A piece of rock jutted out underneath Sokka’s heels, launching him forward. 

“Let’s fucking go.” 

They came around the corner just as Aang let out a jubilant woop, kicking himself into a backflip. Fractals of ice sprayed everywhere when he landed, grinning widely as he reached out and yanked Zuko forward. He barely managed to catch himself in time, stumbling before righting himself with a graceful spin. Katara waved a hand, freezing a slope of crystalline ice before tugging Yue and Suki down with a bright laugh. 

Sokka sat down at the edge of the ice with Toph, hugging his knees close to his chest as he watched them. Aang grabbed Zuko’s hand again, tugging the firebender into a spin that sent sparks and snow flying. With his other hand, he laced his fingers with Katara’s to pull her close. Yue followed, dark hair whipping across her face in the chilly wind, as Suki held onto her waist.

Sokka watched his friends play on the ice. It should’ve been the best feeling, leaving work behind for a few hours just to be kids again in the snow. 

It should’ve been simple. It should’ve been — just that.

But there was some part of him, the part that ached hollow and lonely, that kept whispering, louder and louder with each second, that —

This wasn’t for him.

It was a lot of things, really. Maybe it was whatever Zuko had said to him, about a faceless prodigy sister who outshone him every step of the way until she couldn’t anymore. Maybe it was Katara, whose dreams were growing too big to fit between their linked hands anymore. 

Maybe he just wasn’t enough to fit anywhere. 

Not with them.

(Even if he _was_ like the rest of them, even if he knew how to get up there and dance and soar, he’d never belong, whispered the hollow).

((He was a blemish in the snow, a stain in crystal. He wouldn’t fit — he never could)).

The hollow said it quietly, always. 

And no one was looking at him, but he still tried to put on a semblance of a smile, tightening his grip on Toph’s hand as she did the same in return.

Wiggling his shoes in the snow, he watched as it parted beneath his soles. He didn’t notice Zuko approaching until he came to a hockey stop right in front of them, blades carving new trenches into the ice.

“Hey,” he said breathlessly when Sokka looked up.

Some hair had come loose from his ponytail, hanging over his eyes. Zuko huffed out a powerful breath, attempting to blow the stray strands away. 

“Hi,” Sokka forced himself to say, swallowing dryly. 

“Bored already, Zuko?” Toph snarked. 

His shoulders slumped in a sigh. “Just wanted to check on you guys.” 

“I’m chilling.” Toph smiled and turned toward Sokka. “You?”

Tearing his gaze away from Zuko’s face, he cleared his throat harshly. “Yeah. I’m good.”

He expected Zuko to leave after that, but he didn’t.

Instead, he just let out another short exhale, breaths puffing away from parted rosy lips, before settling down on Sokka’s other side. 

“What are you doing?” The question came out without permission, but Zuko didn’t look like he minded it.

“Taking a break,” he said too casually, crossing his legs. “Besides, my ankle’s still kind of fucked.”

“Your ankle — you’re injured? _Again_?” Toph demanded sharply.

“I just need to take a break for a few minutes. Lay off.” Sokka bit down hard on his lip to stifle a snort when he felt Toph’s arm reach around him to cuff Zuko on the back of his head.

“Idiot.”

“I’m _fine_.” 

“Bèndàn. That’s what you are.” 

“I said I’m _fine_ , I wrapped it and everything. Toph, keep hitting me like that and you’ll _actually_ injure me — ”

They descended into bickering that felt lifetimes-old. Zuko was too busy trying to dodge Toph’s flicked pebbles, and their friends were skating down freshly formed ice ramps and filling the wintry air with sparkling laughter — 

And no one was looking at Sokka, still, but he felt his smile come a little easier just then.

Between Zuko’s all-encompassing warmth where their shoulders pressed together, and Toph’s hand resting snugly in the crook of his elbow, never wavering — the hollow stopped whispering.

Or, at least, Sokka didn’t listen to it. Just for a minute.

(Because for all the bittersweetness his heart spat out, his friends still looked so beautiful in their joy and their quiet).

He slumped back, knocking his elbow against Zuko’s. For a moment, he didn’t feel too heavy at all.

“I know you never asked Yue to heal you, but if your ankle’s still bothering you, she’d really be happy to help,” he murmured. “She’s teaching Katara right now, actually.” 

Zuko’s lips twitched in a private smile, every inch genuine.

“Okay. Thanks, Sokka,” he replied, just as quiet.

He never did go back to skating, even when the hour passed. They sat in the snow, just the three of them, and watched as the setting sun began to halo their friends in a pink glow.

It wasn’t cold at all.

* * *

Dinner was sushi and udon, and Toph was determined to drink her body weight in miso soup while Aang almost choked on his rice from laughing at her. Sokka slammed his back with far too much glee while Suki filmed the entire thing. 

The streets and sidewalks were slick with ice and melted light as they left the restaurant, stomachs full and chests warm. Their breaths billowed into one cloud as their skates hung off their bags, blades clinking against one another occasionally in gentle chimes. 

“Is it true that you challenged Suki to a wrestling match and lost?” Zuko was asking as they headed toward the crosswalk. 

“And what if it was?” Sokka huffed. 

“He did,” Katara said, like the wonderful sister that she was. “He got absolutely _owned_.”

“Katara!”

“You were so confident, too.” 

Sokka opened his mouth to retort as Zuko stifled a laugh under his breath. He turned to glare at the skater for his betrayal, only to gasp when, suddenly, Zuko’s foot skidded over a random (read: treacherous) patch of ice.

His arms shot out, flailing, and Sokka didn’t think before he was lurching forward to catch him. Suddenly Zuko was only a few inches from his face, breaths gusting hotly over Sokka’s cheeks as wide amber eyes stared into his own. 

“He does that all the time, I swear,” Toph grumbled as she passed by. Sokka didn’t bother asking how she knew. She had a Zuko-being-clumsy sixth sense. 

“O-Oh.” Zuko’s fingers curled into the sleeves of Sokka’s parka. “Sorry.” 

“Is your ankle okay?” Sokka asked, staring at a spot just beneath Zuko’s cheek — because that was better than thinking about just how warm Zuko was in his arms. 

“I-It’s fine.” 

“Okay.” He pulled until Zuko was on his feet again, but didn’t let go. He didn’t know if it was because Zuko was still holding onto him, or because his own hands refused to cooperate with his brain. It was too dark to tell, but if Sokka didn’t know better, he’d think Zuko was blushing.

“Come on, guys! Move it!” Suki called from the front. 

Only then did Zuko jump, like he just remembered where he was, and he dropped his hands.

Something lingered in the air between them, and Sokka held onto it. He couldn’t help but smirk at Zuko as they began walking again.

“You’d think that, as a figure skater, you’d be _more_ coordinated on land.” 

Zuko really was blushing when he ducked his head and half-heartedly snapped, “Shut up.”

They had to jog to catch up to the rest of their friends. And if Sokka kept an eye out for any other offending ice patches that Zuko might slip on again on the way there —

Then that was his business, and his business only.

* * *

Sunday evening saw Sokka back at the rink, eyes flicking between his textbook and the ice in front of him as he lounged on the Zamboni. There were only a few people lingering outside, finishing a late dinner and talking amongst themselves. The girls were out that night, and that left Sokka all by himself.

Well — 

At least until the door to the inner rink swung open, and in came Zuko.

Sokka straightened up when he noticed Zuko carrying a new pair of skates — white and trimmed with navy blue.

He narrowed his eyes when he noticed Zuko was already wearing his own skates.

“What are you doing here?” he asked when the firebender only raised his eyebrow at him.

“Are you free?” 

Sokka patted his Zamboni. “Me and my boy are going to be busy for the next half hour.” 

“Okay.” Zuko put down the skates, before settling onto the ground. He crossed his legs and looked on expectantly, while Sokka just gaped at him.

“It’s not very exciting. You could have more fun watching paint dry,” he said, before jerking his head toward the shoes. “What are those for?”

“For you.”

Oh. 

Oh, shit.

“Me?” Sokka did not mean to sound so high-pitched just then, but he doubted Zuko noticed. 

“I wanted to teach you how to skate.” He absently played with a stray strand of his hair, twirling it around his fingertips. 

“Oh,” Sokka said dumbly, tearing his gaze away from Zuko’s hands. 

“Just the basics. If you’re willing to, of course,” Zuko blurted out. He held up the skates by the laces, the blades clacking quietly against one another. “These are custom-made for you, if you’ll have them. Hopefully they’re not too small, but I think they should be good.” 

Sokka didn’t want to think about Zuko going out and getting a pair of skates just for him, or _why_ , so he didn’t. He just sat back, taking in a deep breath and trying to quell the sudden tickle unfurling in his stomach. 

“I make the ice, I don’t _go on it_.” 

A smirk began to dawn on Zuko’s face. “So,” he said, “yes or no?”

Every part of Sokka that was rational, logical, and self-aware said no.

“ _Yes_ ,” he grinned instead, with his one whole brain cell. 

(Every part of Sokka that was rational, logical, and self-aware _hated_ his one whole brain cell).

The skates themselves were comfortable. They fit snugly onto his feet, not too tight and not too loose. Zuko helped him knot the laces, before getting up and backing away onto the ice.

“Okay,” he said. “Stand for me?” 

Sokka stared down at the blades in apprehension. They looked —

Well, _sharp_ , for one thing.

“Actually, Zuko, I don’t really know about this — ”

“It’s like riding a bike, yes? You just need to get the movements down.” 

He rolled his eyes. “So do I get a free helmet too?” 

Zuko smirked. “If anything, probably some knee pads. Maybe a cushion for your ass.” 

Sokka froze, one foot hanging over the ice. 

“Hey, now, what does that — _oh, fuck!_ ” Zuko grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into the rink. Almost immediately, his foot slid, but Zuko’s grip was tight enough that Sokka didn’t make a complete and utter fool of himself. 

“You’re okay,” Zuko said, squeezing his hands. His palms were warm — not a fierce kind of heat, but a gentle one. Sokka would’ve appreciated it more if he wasn’t so busy panicking. “Spread your legs a little more.” 

“I just almost did the full splits, Zuko.”

“Copy my stance,” he insisted, glancing over his shoulder for a brief moment before slowly making a turn. “Lean on one leg and push off with the other. Take turns with it, like you’re marching.” 

“This is _not_ like riding a bike, you dirty liar — ”

“Don’t think about falling.” Zuko smiled at him, a small but brilliant thing. “Don’t look down, look at me.” 

Sokka gritted his teeth, gripping Zuko’s hands tightly enough that he was pretty sure he was cutting off his circulation, before tentatively shifting his weight to one side. Zuko hummed in affirmation, eyes gleaming.

“Just like that. Now do it with your other foot. If you feel like you’re going to fall, just tell me.” 

He swallowed hard, then pushed off with the other leg. His knees shook a bit and he was pretty sure he looked incredibly stupid, but Zuko just kept looking at him with that summery glow on his face, and —

Sokka just kept going.

Never once did Zuko let go.

(And slowly, Sokka stopped thinking about falling).

They skated in quiet for maybe ten minutes, the silence occasionally punctuated by the scrape of their skates against the ice and Sokka nagging Zuko to show him a spin or two.

(“And let you fall on your ass? I don’t think so.” 

“Look, I think I can at least stand on my own. Just watch — wait, no — _wait, Zuko, come back, I take that back_.”)

Once Zuko finished showing him how to make stops, he straightened up and cleared his throat.

“I used to be terrible at skating, you know,” he said. Sokka raised his eyebrow. 

“Hard to imagine that.” 

“I can’t count how many times I fell, just trying to stay balanced. I didn’t think I’d ever get to the point of doing even jumps.” He glided smoothly around the perimeter once again, and Sokka followed. “My sister — well, it wasn’t easy for her either, but she didn’t have to struggle and fight just to be worth it. Not like I did. 

“I’ve noticed,” Zuko continued, pausing between the words as he mulled over them carefully, “sometimes...the way you talk about yourself — it reminds me a lot of how I used to think.” 

Sokka felt like he’d somehow missed a step on the stairs and came plummeting down.

“O-Oh,” he said breathlessly.

“You don’t have to be like your sister,” Zuko said, gazing at him almost imploringly. Begging him to understand. “You don’t have to be like anyone. You’re enough as you are.” 

Three, five, ten seconds passed, before Sokka found the strength to say anything.

“I’m really okay, Zuko,” he said, but he knew as soon as the words passed his lips that they fell to the ground like deadweight. 

“No, you’re not.” 

“I can live with it,” Sokka amended. 

“I don’t mean to say we’re the same, because we’re not,” Zuko said softly. “But whatever you are, whoever you are — you’re enough. You’re not less complete just because you aren’t like your sister. That’s what my uncle always told me.” 

Suddenly, the warmth of Zuko’s hands felt too hot. Sokka wanted to let go, to rip off his skates and storm off somewhere else to hide. Sokka wanted to yell at Zuko to _stop looking at him like that_ , stop looking at him like he was _seeing_ him and all the ugly hollows and grief-stained walls of his bedroom and heart. Sokka wanted to get away, _get away_ , to any place where he wouldn’t be _understood_ , except —

He couldn’t.

Because it was too late.

Zuko _had_ seen him, _did_ see him, and he still refused to let him fall. 

His hands were firm on Sokka’s own, unwavering and strong. 

(Somewhere along the line, Sokka had opened the window back up. 

And somewhere along the line, Zuko had walked by and seen everything. At least, all the things that mattered).

((And somewhere along the line, Zuko had still decided he’d wanted to knock on the door, and ask, so gently, to be invited in)). 

His amber eyes looked darker beneath the occasionally flickering stadium light, the one Sokka had yet to fix, but his smile was brighter still.

“My uncle,” he said, “also says that the good kings can never really fall, even without their crowns. You can be king again, Sokka. But I think you always were.” 

His throat ached like someone was holding him in a vice grip, but Zuko didn’t look like he expected Sokka to say anything at all. He fell quiet again, letting his words flicker around the two of them instead — sparks lighting up a midnight sky, fireflies fluttering about before they drowned. 

“Zuko…” Sokka’s voice was hoarse and barely recognizable, but Zuko just shook his head. 

“I’m going to let you go now, okay?” 

Then his hands were slipping out of Sokka’s, and Zuko was pushing himself away, soaring across the ice one more time. Sokka could only stare as he sent a two-fingered salute his way, before throwing himself into the air, hair blowing across his face as he spun and spun. 

The sound of his landing echoed across the walls. 

“I knew you could do it,” Zuko called from across the rink. 

“What — what did I do?” Sokka asked faintly.

“You didn’t fall.” Skating by and stopping a few feet in front of him, Zuko gestured toward himself. “Come on.” 

Glancing down at his own feet, then back up at Zuko, Sokka almost wanted to shrink away from the sheer force of _belief_ glowing in Zuko’s eyes.

But he didn’t.

He leaned to one side, heart pounding, and slowly pushed himself forward. Again, and again.

Zuko grabbed his sleeve as soon as he got close enough and led him to the edge of the rink, where his bags were lying. Sokka sat down, a little more clumsily than he would’ve liked — 

But considering how much his bones ached and his heart sang and his everything felt like it’d been hollowed out and then put back in — with a little more care than ever before — 

No. He refused to think about it. 

Zuko sat down beside him, crossing his legs and reaching into his bag. He pulled out a thermos and unscrewed the cap, filling it up before offering it to Sokka. 

“Jasmine tea,” he said when Sokka just stared. “My uncle brewed it.” 

He reached out and took the cap, letting the steam warm his face. Zuko hugged his knees as he took a slow sip. 

It was — less bitter than he would’ve imagined.

“What about you?” he asked quietly, when his voice finally decided to come back online. 

Zuko just shrugged. “I know what it tastes like already.” 

(His words shouldn’t have made the tea taste sweeter).

((They did)).

Sokka held the cap close to his chest, digging the edges of his skates into the ice. 

It shouldn’t have been so comforting. So uprooting. They’d known each other for three years and had only spoken for maybe a month or so, but —

Zuko was in his home now. And he didn’t say anything about the worn-down grief staining the corner of his bedroom like cobwebs, or the chipped cups in the sink Sokka was too afraid to repair, lest he shatter them more, or the ghostly stains of golden light that taunted him during sunless days. 

He didn’t say anything.

He just saw him —

Then he’d sat down at the kitchen table, pulled out a new cup, and offered him tea. 

Sokka hadn’t fallen once, but sitting there, in the middle of an empty rink, with new skates and _something else_ thrumming with every beat of his heart, he couldn’t help but wonder — 

If maybe he had, after all.

If maybe, he’d just never noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did not realize this chapter was that long until i put it into the wordcounter. oops n e way!! told yall this burn was fast (for my standards at least) mwahahha 
> 
> hope u enjoyed!! :")


	3. the great winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a warning for discussion of past abuse in the last scene of this chapter! it's not explicit but it is mentioned/implied

Sokka found Zuko and Katara both on the rink the next time he went in, early in the morning. 

He paused and watched for a while while Bato and Piandao talked quietly together in the corner. He watched as Katara rotated into a spin, braid whipping over her shoulder as Zuko skated over and adjusted her arm. He watched as Zuko launched himself into a jump, as Katara clapped and pointed out something with his footwork.

They didn’t notice him, focused only on each other as they occasionally laughed and traded teases. It was strangely disarming, to see two of the most powerful skaters Sokka knew just — together. No crushing stadium chants, no music, no expectations — only ease and tentative joy. 

They only stopped when Piandao called out for Zuko to take a break, and he reluctantly glided back to the edge of the ice. Only when Zuko had finished putting on his guards did he notice Sokka standing there.

“Oh. Hey, Sokka,” he said, voice warmed with pleasant surprise. 

He almost had to turn away. 

(Somehow, it was both easier and infinitely harder to look at Zuko, this time bathed in the glow of morning light).

((Because all he could think about was Zuko’s hands in his, Zuko’s eyes on him. Zuko, who ruled the rinks like it cost him nothing, stopping to teach Sokka how to stand, even if it took hours. How to hold on, even if his own hands hurt once he’d let go)).

Something young and soft trembled in Sokka’s chest as he lifted his hand in a wave. 

Even with one casual look, Zuko’s gaze was too piercing and too knowing. For a moment, Sokka twitched, as muscle memory called for him to _hide away_ again.

But at the same time, it felt like there was something else taking root in his marrow. Like the first tickle of springtime, peeking out from behind his heart, whispering, _I left the door unlocked for you last night, you know_.

Bato had gotten onto the ice to go over Katara’s choreography, while Zuko sat down at the edge of the rink to massage his ankle. Sokka pushed himself away from where he was leaning against the boards to approach him, smiling when Zuko glanced up. 

“Katara says you’re going for the Olympics,” he said, as casually as he could. 

Zuko raised his eyebrow, fiddling with his ring. “Yes,” he said after a long minute. “I am.”

Sokka sat down next to him. 

It was almost a near-mirror image of where they’d been only a couple nights ago, if only the lights were dim and flickering, there was a warm cup of tea in Sokka’s hands, and it was just the two of them once more.

(But they didn’t need to talk about it, not really. They both knew what it meant).

((It meant — 

_It’s light out. I can only see you better now_.

And —

 _If you don’t want to come in through the door again, I think I might keep the window open, too_ )).

Instead, he just turned toward Zuko, and asked, “Are you scared?”

“Of what?”

“It’s going to be hard.” 

Lips twitching in a bittersweet sort of smile, Zuko shrugged. “Of course I’m scared. But everyone is,” he said quietly. “I’ve wanted this since I was sixteen. I just have to focus on doing well in Nationals for now.” 

Sokka was every bit genuine as he leaned in, nudging Zuko’s side with his elbow, and said, “I’m rooting for you.” 

“Thanks,” Zuko said roughly.

There was something a little twisted on his face as he ducked his head, turning away. Sokka wanted to reach out and tilt his chin up so he could look him in the eye — _you don’t have to be afraid with me_ , _I_ _understand now_ — but he didn’t move. 

He just listened.

“I haven’t been doing too well in competitions lately,” Zuko finally said after a long minute. “I had to relearn how to skate, after my — my hiatus. It set me back a lot.” 

Trailing off, he sounded so lost that Sokka couldn’t help but reach out and nudge him again. He waited until Zuko looked back up at him before saying anything. 

“Hey. I’ve seen you skate. You’re one of the best out there,” he insisted softly. “I mean — besides my sister, of course.”

At that, Zuko’s smile blossomed into something a little more genuine.

(It almost glowed).

They sat together for a while longer, not quite touching but still nearly pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. Sokka watched as Katara pushed herself into a twirl, whipping a trail of water across the rink as she went. Bato called something out, and she did it again, faster this time.

Crackles split the air as she froze the wall of water into a jagged barrier of ice, before melting it with a brilliant grin and returning it all to her waterskin. 

“Great form, Katara,” Bato called out. “Let’s just run through that one more time.” 

Sokka watched as his sister skated back toward the center of the rink, pausing only for a few seconds to catch his eye. She waved at him, sticking her tongue out as she not-so-subtly glanced Zuko’s way.

Sokka flipped her off. Not-so-subtly.

When he turned back, Zuko was already gazing at him. Draped in a soft, wistful kind of amusement, he looked almost golden.

“What’s up?” Sokka asked quietly.

“Oh. Nothing.” 

Zuko never said things he didn’t mean, until he couldn’t. But Sokka thought he knew what he was thinking. After all, he could remember Zuko’s words and the distant memories of a baby sister — words thrown away like they didn’t matter, except they did.

( _She hated skating. And she hated me_ ).

But before he could say anything, Zuko was already speaking.

“Some skating competitions put all the bending forms together, so we only really compete through our programs,” he said, clearing his throat and glancing back down at his feet. “Nationals are going to be different. All the bending categories are separated, so we’re not technically competing against each other.” 

Sokka hummed. “So...how do you know who gets to go to the Olympics, then?” 

“The top skater from each category qualifies.” Zuko twisted at his ring again, and Sokka wanted to reach out and take his hands away, if it’d only get him to stop doing that.

Instead, he just pressed his elbow against Zuko’s.

“Hey. I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Katara has ended up winning every single competition I’ve watched.” 

“You obviously have to watch all of them,” Zuko said, rolling his eyes. “You’re supposed to do that.” 

“What I’m _trying_ to say is — ”

“What’s that thing? Causation isn’t correlation? I’m not too clear — ”

“Are you going to let me be supportive or what?” 

Zuko shut his mouth. Sokka grinned. Mission accomplished.

“I’ll be there. We’ll bring the whole gang,” he promised. “We’ll all be there for you, just like we are for Katara and Aang. You’re going to do great, okay?” 

Zuko just stared at him, wide-eyed and half hopeful, half doubtful. Like a winter that just couldn’t believe it was sunlight kissing its head. 

Then Piandao was calling out for him again, and Zuko couldn’t do anything else but flash Sokka another smile and a quick nod, before getting to his feet. Before he could skate off again, Sokka reached up and snagged his fingers on the hem of Zuko’s shirt.

“I wish you wouldn’t look so surprised, you know,” he said. “It’s what friends do for each other.” 

“We’re friends?” 

Sokka almost wanted to laugh. He’d seen Zuko rise and fall until he physically couldn’t stand anymore, and Zuko had seen him behind all his fractured walls and shadows. Zuko had tried to keep him from falling, in the kinds of ways that bruised the knees and the heart, and Sokka had just kept tumbling down anyway.

 _You still don’t know?_ he wanted to ask. 

All he said was, “Yeah, Zuko. We’re friends.” 

He said _friends_ , but it wasn’t a big enough word for whatever was growing between them. 

But at least it was something.

Zuko’s gaze lingered on him for a long moment, twisted up in something somewhere between melancholia and elation, before he turned away.

Sokka watched him return to the ice, flashing a fleeting smile at Katara as he passed her by, and wondered if there existed any world where they did anything else at all.

(If there did, he really didn’t want to imagine it).

* * *

The day of Zuko’s competition, they all piled into Suki’s pickup truck and drove down to the stadium. Zuko was already practicing at the rink, along with several other skaters Sokka didn’t recognize.

“Zuko!” Toph yelled as they crowded up against the boards. He whirled around at the sound of her voice, breaking into a grin when he noticed all of them there. Skating over, he reached out and took Toph’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Hey,” he said, like he still couldn’t really believe it. “You’re all here.”

“Of course we are,” Aang said brightly. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” 

“Thanks, Aang.” He narrowed his eyes when Aang reached out and ruffled his hair, lightly swatting away his hand. “You messed it up now.” 

“It looks fine to me,” Toph said. 

“Fuck off.” Zuko grinned, sharp around all his edges, before turning toward Sokka. The steely glint faded from his eyes into something far softer. “Thanks for coming, guys.”

He said it to all of them, but he never once looked away from Sokka. 

Not even when he pushed himself away from the boards to join the rest of the skaters. 

They were crowded into the front row, the closest to the boards they could get, as everyone finished their warm-ups and the announcers’ voices began ringing through the stadium. Sokka wiped his palms against his bouncing legs as he watched the skaters clear the ice. 

He shouldn’t have been nervous. He wasn’t the one skating. He wasn’t the one about to perform in front of hundreds of people, in front of an entire panel of judges just waiting to pick apart his every move.

But something had set his heart aflutter ever since Zuko had left, Katara was looking at him with something awfully understanding in her eyes, and it was too late for Sokka to hide. 

His sister didn’t say anything, only reaching out and squeezing his hand once. 

“Were you even this invested for all those times _I_ was competing?” she teased. 

Sokka spluttered. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

Katara snorted, before reaching out and flicking him lightly. “Just relax a bit, okay? I can feel you vibrating from here.” 

He slowed down his leg bounce. “Thanks, Katara,” he said dryly — though he really did mean it. 

She just grinned, before turning to murmur something to Aang, just as the audience finally began to quiet and the first skater stepped out onto the rink. 

Sokka tried to pay attention. He really did. They were fine skaters, spinning and jumping and twirling until they were nothing but circles of flame. Only one had a major fall, hard enough that she slammed against the boards and the audience gasped. But she got right back up again.

They were _fine_. They just weren’t — 

They weren’t Zuko.

They bent fire, but they _weren’t_ fire. Not like Zuko was. Sokka had seen him skate — how even without sparks flying from his fingers, he skated like there were entire forests set alight inside his ribs. Even without setting himself on fire, he moved like something was burning in him with every breath.

Zuko embodied flame, both gentle like candlelight and furious like swallowed gasoline. 

Sokka couldn’t make himself look at anyone else if he tried. 

By the time Zuko’s name was finally announced, the rest of the skaters were finished. Sokka leaned forward as a familiar figure strode onto the ice — this time clad in what looked like a red and black tunic. Spreading across his right shoulder was deep crimson splattered in glitter, separated from midnight black with two golden sashes. His hair, tucked into his signature high ponytail, brushed across his shoulders as he skated to the center of the rink. 

Toph let out one last whoop, and Zuko’s eyes darted their way. For a split second, the tiniest smile flickered across Zuko’s face as his gaze snagged with Sokka’s. 

He held his breath.

Then Zuko’s smile dropped completely, and he turned away.

He lifted one gloved hand, let it drift right over his scar, and closed his eyes.

When the music began, Sokka forgot about everything else.

Sparks ignited in Zuko’s palm as he let his hand fall from his face. A drizzle of embers rained over him as he glided away. Every pulse of flame was timed with the rise and fall of the rhythms. His skates scraped against the ice as he started sliding backwards. 

Next to him, Katara leaned forward in anticipation. Sokka gripped the edge of the boards tightly as Zuko suddenly kicked himself into the air. 

(For a moment, it was an empty rink again, just the two of them). 

((A jump, and then a brutal fall)).

This time, Zuko didn’t fall.

He skidded on the landing, stumbling only slightly before immediately righting himself with an arc of fire. It sparked golden, and Sokka almost wanted to laugh. 

_There he is_.

The rest of the program went smoothly. For two more minutes, Zuko owned the rink. It was brief but felt like an eternity. The piece began to crescendo into its final climax, and Zuko pulled himself into his final spin. 

He just kept spinning, spinning, spinning. Flames chased his outstretched leg like runaway dragons, sparking and lighting up the rink in pale gold. The music swelled seamlessly into applause as Zuko finally came to a stop, a wall of fire roaring and sputtering behind him as he fell down to one knee. 

Sokka jumped to his feet, running to the barrier. He didn’t know what he would’ve done, even if he could get onto the ice, but then — 

Zuko shakily pushed himself to his feet. 

He skated forward, arms outstretched as he opened his mouth in a scream, drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Tongues of flame flickered from between his teeth, swelling and breathing with every heave of his chest. Sparks flew around his face like a crown, illuminating skin and scar in gold. 

It looked like he was spitting up the sun. 

Sokka’s breath caught in his throat as he could only stare. Something indescribable caved open in his chest. It was a lovely sort of wonder — an old friend of the childish glee that had split him open when Katara bent water for the first time. 

It was beautiful. 

_He_ was beautiful.

The announcers were saying something unintelligible as Zuko skated off the rink, right in front of Sokka. He grinned at him, wild with adrenaline, but all Sokka could focus on was the tiny trail of smoke still heating up his lips. 

“Hi,” he said, voice cracking when Zuko just gazed at him. 

“Hey.” He stepped onto the ground, wobbling only slightly. “How did I do?” 

_You were brilliant_ , Sokka wanted to yell. 

“Good,” was what he whispered. “Really good.” 

“Cool.” Zuko wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, before reaching up and tugging out his hair tie. Dark locks cascaded over his shoulders in waves, and suddenly Sokka’s throat was drier than a desert.

Piandao, always with the most impeccable timing, came and saved Sokka from further embarrassment.

“Well done, Zuko,” he said, before leaning forward and knocking their foreheads together. “Well done.” 

“Thank you, Coach,” Zuko said breathlessly. Sokka had to look away. When Zuko smiled like that, he lit up from the inside.

“I’m going to borrow him for a few, Sokka,” Piandao said, nodding his way as he drew Zuko away. He could catch the tail-end of their conversation as they left. “...expect you’ll be on the podium for this one.” 

All he could do was stare after Zuko’s retreating back, as Katara came up to him and leaned her elbows on his shoulders.

“Close your mouth, you’re going to start drooling,” she said playfully when Sokka turned around. 

“I hate you,” he grumbled.

Aang was already waiting for them by the bench, swinging his feet back and forth as he waved them over.

“You nervous to skate tomorrow?” Katara asked him as she sat, yanking Sokka down with her. 

“I’m feeling pretty good about it.” Aang grinned. “If I make it, I make it. If not, then at least I’ll have fun.” 

They sat there for about ten minutes, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, as skaters cleared out the rink and brought out the podium. Sokka couldn’t see Zuko from where they were sitting, but he could hear his name as they announced his results. 

Aang’s smile slowly faded into a frown as he glanced at Katara, the numbers sinking in. 

“They underscored him,” he said. 

“It was probably on the jumps,” she said slowly, though there was the same confused glint in her eyes as she looked out at the podium. Sokka followed her gaze to where Zuko was already standing, hair tied back up. His heart sank at the carefully blank expression on Zuko’s face as he stepped up to accept his bronze medal. 

“They always do that to him,” Aang said. He looked frustrated by something bigger than fickle judgements. “Ever since Zuko started skating again, they’ve been underscoring him every chance they get.” 

“He can still qualify. That’s what matters.” Katara was firm yet understanding, and, with a pang in his chest, Sokka remembered all the times she’d put on a brave face and a grin even after seeing her own scores. Swallowing pride and pain to show a watching world that she was more, more, _more_ than what they thought of her. 

That lightless smile was the same thing twitching on Zuko’s lips as he looked blankly ahead, bronze pendant dangling off his chest and splitting fractals of light.

Sokka reached out and squeezed Katara’s hand. He didn’t know what to say — but he hoped his sister would understand nonetheless.

From the look she gave him and the brush of her thumb over his knuckles, he knew she did.

* * *

Zuko was still and serene despite the chattering and flashes filling the room at the press conference. He fiddled with the zipper of his jacket, politely fielding the questions thrown his way with stumbling grace. 

Whenever his gaze strayed to where Sokka and their friends were, Sokka gave him an exaggerated thumbs-up and a silently mouthed, “ _You’re doing great_.” Then some of the light returned to the curve of Zuko’s lips as he looked away again.

The game went on for maybe half an hour before the last reporter raised his hand and called for Zuko.

“Since you’ve returned to figure skating after your accident and changing coaches, your scores and skates have become a lot less predictable,” the man said. “Ozai Yukimura was one of the top coaches in figure skating, yet he has since retired from his position. Many people thought you wouldn’t come back from that loss at all. Can you tell us how you overcame this?” 

It was like watching the sun go out.

Zuko’s face shut down as the skaters beside him started murmuring. He was as cold as the ice he skated upon. Sokka glanced at his friends — at Aang, who looked suddenly furious, at Suki and Katara, who were holding onto Toph’s arms like they were the only ones stopping her from storming the stage. 

(Honestly, Sokka would’ve let her).

He recognized the winter darkening Zuko’s amber eyes. He’d seen it before. 

_I’ll train somewhere else. Just tell me to fuck off first_. Words spat into an empty stadium, sharp-edged with anger. 

It wasn’t just anger, Sokka began to realize as he watched Zuko reach forward to grip his mic.

It was sorrow. 

“The only things I have had to overcome,” Zuko said slowly, “are the barriers this sport has set every step of the way for people who can’t and won’t fit your canon. People like me.” His eyes flitted their way for the briefest second. “People like Katara. Like Aang.” 

Then, he reached up and tapped his scar. Even from where he stood, Sokka could tell - 

His fingers were trembling.

“This _accident_ ,” he said, spitting out the word like it was too small to mean anything, “isn’t something I had to overcome to be better. This is something I just work with. This scar is a part of me. I’ve always struggled and fought every day to keep doing what I love, with or without it, and I will not give _him_ any credit for that.” 

The silence following screamed, and Zuko looked like he was on the verge of tears or burning down the entire rink. 

Someone said the press conference was finished, and in the flurry of movement, Sokka almost didn’t see Zuko rise from the table and walk off, only to be caught by Piandao who said something urgently to him. Aang followed after them with Toph in tow, and Sokka couldn’t tell who was leading who. 

“That was a horrible question to ask,” Yue remarked softly.

Suki glanced at her girlfriend, then at Sokka, before throwing her arms around both their shoulders.

“Let’s find Zuko and get out of here, shall we?” she said with false cheer. 

Sokka nodded silently, letting her lead them out of the lobby.

(He couldn’t stop thinking about that look on Zuko’s face. How quickly that light had vanished. How strangely old and frail the anger in his eyes had been).

((He couldn’t help but wonder if Zuko had ever been angry at all — 

If it was just grief finally showing its fangs)). 

* * *

The sun was just beginning to set when Suki drove down to the same patch of ice they’d found what felt like months ago. Killing the engine, she turned and looked at Sokka in the rearview mirror. 

“I think we’re just going to skate around a bit,” she said softly. “If Zuko feels up to it, he can join us.”

“Okay.” Pushing open the door, Sokka jumped out. Snow crunched beneath his shoes as he headed around to the back, away from the soft chatter of his friends as they slowly headed down to the ice. He only focused on the twin shapes of brother and sister in the truck bed.

Toph was leaning up against the back window, turning Sokka’s way as she heard him approach. Her hands were combing methodically through Zuko’s hair as he rested his head in her lap, eyes shut in an almost-perfect facsimile of peace. 

“Hey,” Sokka greeted quietly, climbing up into the bed to join them. “How are you feeling?”

Zuko didn’t answer, only opening his eyes and fixing Sokka in a gaze that screamed, _what do you think_? 

Toph answered for both of them. 

“A little shitty,” she said too cheerily, patting the top of Zuko’s head. “Nothing we’re not used to.” 

Sokka settled down beside them, tucking his knees up to his chest so he could fit. “If you’re up to it, they’re waiting for you to go skate with them,” he said. “Aang brought your skates, just in case.” 

“I’m fine,” Zuko whispered. 

But he wasn’t.

“You know what would be cool?” Toph added when they fell quiet for several long moments. “Learning how to metalbend.”

“That hasn’t been done before,” Sokka said.

“Exactly. I’d be the first.” She grinned fiercely, but her fingers were light as they threaded through Zuko’s hair. “I’ll start with all your medals, Sparky.”

“Of course you would,” Zuko muttered.

“You couldn’t stop me. Which one of us does the earthbending tournaments and which one of us skates on knives?” 

“See, Toph thinks they’re knives too.” Sokka smirked when that finally got a reaction out of Zuko — a half-hearted glare, but at least it was a reaction.

They sat there as the sun began its slow climb back to bed, listening to their friends’ distant voices rise into a symphony that was fuller than any stadium or any crowd. Toph kept playing with Zuko’s hair, and Sokka —

Sokka slowly, slowly reached out. He rested his hand on Zuko’s ankle, the same one he’d sprained, and rubbed his thumb over the bone.

He didn’t know what to say — but he hoped Zuko would understand nonetheless.

From the way he stilled beneath his touch, closing his eyes again like he wanted to be anywhere but there —

Sokka wasn’t sure he did.

* * *

Zuko was gone.

Well, that was a little dramatic. He wasn’t _gone_. He was still talking to Aang and Toph, but not to _Sokka_.

He hadn’t been by their rink for almost a week. Sokka didn’t know if he really was training somewhere else or if he’d just decided to take a _break_ , but either way, something sat heavily in his ribcage at the thought of it.

“He’ll come back eventually,” Katara had said one night, the first of many nights when Sokka finally closed up the rink at a normal time. “Our finals are coming up soon, and if he still wants to qualify for the national team, he has to.” 

“Isn’t now a bad time to be taking a break, then?” Sokka had asked. 

“Zuko came back after three years,” she’d said. “He can handle a week.” 

And eventually, he did come back. 

Sokka was heading back inside to turn out all the lights when he noticed the lone figure still sitting on the center of the ice. 

Where he would’ve been annoyed before, he could only feel sheer, cool relief now. It nearly knocked him over. 

“Zuko,” he breathed, dropping his keys and opening up the door. 

He didn’t care how stupid he looked, trying to walk across the ice without slipping, but he painstakingly made his way over. Zuko didn’t stir, didn’t turn to look at him, didn’t acknowledge him at all. Sokka paused to take him in.

His hair was down, the top half tucked into a messy bun that allowed his bangs to slip back over his face. His eyes were shut, lashes brushing against his cheeks, but that did nothing to hide the shadows beneath them. 

Cupped in his hands was a tiny flame, painting his skin a hazy gold. 

Sokka sat down across from him, slowly and just loudly enough that there was no way Zuko couldn’t hear him. When Zuko didn’t tell him to go away, he settled down and glanced back at the fire. 

It rose and fell with each breath Zuko took. Undulating gently, it flickered here and there but never went out, almost like a little tidal wave. 

It wasn’t anything nearly as flashy or extravagant as the kind of bending Zuko did on ice.

Yet somehow, it was even more ethereal.

Sokka didn’t know how long he sat there, just watching Zuko, only that the moment broke when the firebender shifted and opened his eyes with a soft sigh.

“Hey, Sokka,” he said hoarsely.

“Zuko,” he whispered back. 

“Sorry. I had to — I was meditating.” Zuko glanced down at the fire cradled in his hands, something twisted flickering in his eyes. 

“Hey, it’s okay. Do what you need.” Sokka leaned forward, forcing Zuko to look him in the eye. “Are you okay? You kind of — disappeared after last week.” 

“I’m — I’m okay now.” 

He didn’t look like it. 

He looked like he was drowning beneath the weight of sunlight and pain.

Sokka didn’t push it yet, so Zuko didn’t explain. They sat there together for what felt like hours, chills warmed by the flame between them. Zuko watched the fire as he breathed, and Sokka watched Zuko.

Only when Zuko moved to extinguish the warmth, apologies ready between his lips again, did Sokka move. 

Without thinking, he reached out and cupped both of Zuko’s hands. 

Zuko froze, breath catching roughly in his throat.

Everywhere they touched felt alive with living gold. Up close, Sokka could see all the age-old cuts and calluses lining Zuko’s fingers and knuckles, set alight with the brightest stars. Pressed together, their skin glowed like crimson sunsets. 

“Stay,” Sokka said when Zuko just stared helplessly at him. “I’m telling you to stay.” 

“O-Oh,” he breathed.

The fire flickered, but didn’t go out. Sokka didn’t let go.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly. 

Zuko opened his mouth, then shut it when nothing came out. Squeezing his hands, Sokka added, “I have nowhere else to be. We’ve got all night.” 

He laughed, a choked sound, and ducked his head. 

“What’s there to talk about?” he whispered. 

“Something’s hurting you.” 

“It’s been done already, years ago.” 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t talk about it,” Sokka urged. 

A shudder passed through Zuko’s body, and Sokka only held on tighter. Three, five, ten seconds. 

_Come on_ , Sokka wanted to plead. _You saw me. Now let me see you_. 

Three, five, ten seconds. Again. And again.

A sharp inhale, a quiet sigh, and Zuko let go.

“He wasn’t just my old coach. He was my father.” 

His fingers curled around the flame, just enough that the heat licked at his skin, as his shoulders sagged. 

“He wanted me and my sister to be perfect. Any mistakes, on or off the ice, were punished,” he said, voice quivering. “He didn’t care for — emotion or passion, or anything like that. We just had to be the best. If not both of us, then one of us.

“Azula couldn’t handle the pressure then, and she wouldn’t handle it now. She was only eleven, and she’d gotten injured the year before and she never recovered from it. My fa — Ozai, he was going to keep forcing her into Nationals and Championships, and she was just going to get hurt again.” Sokka began to rub his thumbs in circles against Zuko’s knuckles as he took another deep breath, his entire body trembling. 

“I tried to stop him. Azula was going to burn out before she even made it, and I had to — I had to try and stop that,” Zuko whispered, like saying the words softly would make them any less jagged. “So he said that if I thought that way, then I wouldn’t need to skate at all.” 

Amber eyes, rimmed with red, flicked up to meet Sokka’s. 

“He burned me,” he said. “He intended for me to never skate again.” 

There it was. The truth. The accident that wasn’t, and the hand-me-down rage that, really, was grief. 

Sokka didn’t dare to move, didn’t dare to even speak even though his blood rushed in his ears, and he wished for nothing else than to tear something, or someone, apart. He didn’t swallow his anger, only held it in his hands, as Zuko clenched anguish and its barbed thorns between his teeth until he bled. 

He _listened_. 

“It worked, for a few years,” Zuko said miserably. “I didn’t bend. I didn’t skate. I — I _couldn’t_. I thought it was all over. Azula hated me for stepping in and hated Uncle even more for forcing _him_ to step down, and I just didn’t know what to do with my life. 

“I used to be great, you know?” He laughed bitterly at it like it was a joke. “People used to say I’d become the king of figure skating. I’m not anymore.” 

Sokka opened his mouth to say something, _anything_ , because _that wasn’t true_. He’d _seen_ Zuko, he’d seen him blaze like the sun over snow and he’d seen his greatness, over and over and over again. 

But before he could say a word, Zuko cut in — 

“Why are you still here, Sokka?” 

His fingers tightened around Zuko’s wrists. “What are you talking about?” he asked quietly.

There were tears brimming in Zuko’s eyes, to Sokka’s horror. 

“I’m actually terrible, you know,” he whispered, like it was a secret.

“ _No_.” Sokka frowned, leaning closer. “I don’t know, actually. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“I’m a _failure_. I couldn’t protect my sister. I couldn’t even defend myself when it mattered.” Then the tears began to fall, one by one, threatening to douse the flames. 

“I’m fucked up. I pretend I’m someone I’m not, and all I know is to keep giving because that’s all I have left, and everything I hand out is just ugly and terrible. My sister hates me and still won’t talk to me, and I hated her too and all I wanted to do was keep her safe, but I wasn’t good enough to do even that. Everyone says it’s a shame my father retired, but that’s _nothing_ compared to what he did to us, and — ” 

He gasped, a strangled, wretched thing that sounded like a sob. 

“ — and my father always said Azula was born lucky, and I was lucky to be born,” he cried. “I know now that it’s not true. But _he’s_ still the one who said it, and _I’m_ still the one who has to live with it.” 

“Oh, Zuko,” Sokka breathed, because what else was there to say? The fire finally extinguished, crumpling in on itself until all that was left behind was bitter cold, and Sokka reached out and pulled Zuko close until there was no space between them anymore. 

His shoulder quickly became wet with tears as Zuko crumbled completely, fingers digging crescent moons into Sokka’s back. 

“I’m sorry,” Sokka murmured, rocking him back and forth, stroking his hair. “I’m sorry you have to carry this. You were a kid too. You didn’t deserve that. But I’ve seen you, and you’re not terrible. You’re enough. You’re more than enough. Do you want to know how I know?”

Zuko’s only answer to that was another sob, and Sokka held him even tighter. 

“You give so much, and you don’t even know it. You don’t even think about it. Remember when you taught me how to skate for the first time? You didn’t let me fall, once. You gave me your uncle’s tea that he made for you, because you knew I’d never had it before,” he said. “You noticed me. You saw me. And you took all that time to tell me things I needed to hear. That’s not ugly, you’re _amazing_.

“Listen to me, alright? You’re not broken,” he whispered into Zuko’s hair, like it was a secret. “You’re a survivor, and you’re so strong. I’m not lying to you. You don’t have to fight to be loved. You already are, okay?” 

Then he pulled back. He cupped Zuko’s face with his hands, wiping away his tears as they fell. Zuko’s hands came up to grip his wrists desperately.

“Remember what you told me? You said that whatever I am, whoever I am, I am enough. Look at me, please?”

He waited until he could see Zuko’s eyes again, before smiling, as softly and gently as he could.

“You’ve fallen a little bit, sure. But fuck what everyone else thinks,” he murmured. “You can be king again. You always were.” 

It didn’t matter, really, if it’d happened a long time ago. Grief was a scream that echoed for years. Winters returned just as often as they faded. And hurt was a storm or a season. 

Sokka pulled Zuko to his chest again and kept him there until his sobs began to quiet down. They stayed there for the longest time, even after their legs grew cold and the sky fell to black. 

Even after the one light that Sokka had never quite gotten around to replacing finally flickered out for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> healing....... you non linear bastard.......
> 
> next chapter will be big! olympic qualifiers! more heart to hearts! spring is coming! <3 hope u enjoyed! x

**Author's Note:**

> will be having weekly updates!! <3 please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed and are so inclined. see you around!!
> 
> side note, serious creative liberties were taken with the technicalities of skating (scores, competitions, olympic qualifiers, etc) please don't take my word as gospel bahaha. im just here to appreciate a sport :]
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @ hi-raethia


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